Archangels learn
by Amousca
Summary: Tyrael is an Archangel. He is ancient, powerful, and almost omniscient ... sounds right, doesn't it? Yet he is about to meet a certain mortal who will remind him that he still has to learn a few things from life.
1. Broken

_Disclaimer: I don't own Diablo, Diablo II or the expansion set Lord of Destruction. I'm just a fan and I intend no harm. All the afore-mentioned games are property of Blizzard Entertainment._

_Preview: You must have already read that this is about Tyrael. I'll admit that I'm not sure that this is perfectly in-character. But I found his character did not have much definition, so I decided to give him one. Please, don't throw any putrefied vegetables at me for it. I'll accept constructive criticism, though._

_Hope you enjoy, all :)_

_**Archangels learn**_

Chapter 1. Broken

He had spent the last dozen millennia watching Tal Rasha fight, contain and lose his battle against Baal. He felt pity and respect for the Horadrim mage; no matter how powerful he was, the mortal could do nothing to resist the taint of the most powerful of the Three from corrupting him. Yet, the mortal had sacrificed himself to an eternity of combat and suffering at the spirit without hands of the Lord of Destruction. He had given his life and his soul so that the Evil could be contained, and the World had thrived, thanks to his generous or foolish sacrifice, for millennia.

And now, it was changing. The world was straying from that path back to the way of the demons. The great archangel Tyrael could feel the events unfold in the world, above the sand and far from this desert. Diablo had freed himself in Tristram; his Soulstone had been planted in a prince's forehead, and he had possessed the boy. He had been defeated, but the warrior had succumbed to the power of the Soulstone. He had gone through dungeons, caves and hells without guidance to finally find himself face to face with the Lord of Terror, whom he had defeated. Yet he had lost the fight. Tyrael knew that, at first, the Wanderer had left to the East in search of a way to restore himself, to free himself from Diablo's influence. But now, Diablo's power was overwhelming him, and he continued East to free his brother, Baal. Tyrael doubted he could even remember who he had been by now. And he was coming ever closer.

The Rogues' Monastery had fallen to Andarielle, Queen of Hells, and the desert was plagued with demons, walking in the path of the Wanderer, the Hero, Diablo's possession.

Mephisto had freed himself too, and incarnated himself in Sankekur, the great Zakarum. The Lord of Hatred was unleashing hordes of demons at Kurast, the Imperial City, and had opened the gate to hell in the bowels of the once great Temple.

Agitation was coming to the mortals' realms. Many heroes were rising against the tide of demons washing over the land. Many fell. Necromancers left their secret city in search of a fight against what was disturbing their Great Cycle. Amazons battled demons on their own islands, and went to the help of the Rogues, their archer allies. Barbarians left their lands to follow the Wanderer and his trail of demons, believing the safety of their home resided in the fight in foreign lands. Assassins came out of hiding, thinking some rogue and treacherous mage was the source of the troubles. Zann Esu, the great clan of Sorceresses, defended fiercely their territory against the advance of demons in the jungle, and not many other group of mortals could withstand the onslaught of Mephisto's hordes with as much power. Druids were driven out of their forests in search of the source of the corruption of their groves. A few Paladins had escaped Mephisto's corruption, being away from Kurast on various errands and wandering fights, but now followed the Wanderer, recognizing him as a source of Evil. The last of the Horadrim was caged in Tristram, a prize to the lesser demons left behind by Diablo.

Everywhere the Mortals were rising in power and determination, fighting back the demons. Many fell in their foolish attempt to battle demons beyond their power. So many fell before the hordes of Darkness.

There was grievance in Tyrael's heart. He loved the mortals; he had given them the Soulstones to contain the Three, and now his gift was turning bitterly against those he had wanted to protect, corrupted in a way he had yet to discover.

The Wanderer was coming ever closer. Tyrael felt his advance in the desert, Tal Rasha's writhing and show of power constantly greater. Undead and demons were rising around Lut Gholein, and the fair city was besieged by hideous creatures.

Tyrael readied himself for the coming battle. He felt Deckard Cain, last of the Horadrim, being freed, but he had to focus on gathering his power; he could not strain his innervision to observe the faraway world now. He took weeks to gather his power, not focusing himself in one great moment that would alert Evil at miles' radius. His power grew as the Evil took over the Wanderer slowly, day after day, influenced now by the proximity to his brother.

Baal was writhing in his binds, speaking the tongue of the demons and the language of magic, flames bursting around him, often laughing at the foolish Archangel guarding him.

Tyrael now felt demons inhabited the Tomb. And suddenly, the Wanderer's presence was overwhelmingly near, breaking brutally in a crystal-clear expression of Evil. Diablo was now the only driving force behind the Hero's actions. His soul was caged, and he was condemned a spectator to the doings of his body. His body was not even fully his anymore, already coursed by demonic blood.

The Archangel gathered himself, and watched as the Wanderer and Marius, the foolish, weak man, following the Wanderer's call, entered the chamber. He did not show himself. He let the Wanderer walk forward towards his brother. It was striking how he did not look human anymore; he was moving with unnatural speed and power, his head pierced by the beginning of Diablo's horns.

Then Tyrael's wing shot forward, and grabbed the Wanderer's wrist.

"Halt!", the archangel said, pulling the Wanderer's hand away from the Soulstone embedded in Tal Rasha's chest. "No one will free the Evil imprisoned here. No one, not even you," he stated. He was rising above the ground, his great white wings lifting him, and he raised his sword, gathering himself.

Then he pounced down upon the Wanderer, grieve in his heart for the mortal that was forever lost. He clashed full speed with the almost human body, and felt the punch of Diablo's power. Both plummeted down together into the pit around Tal Rasha's prison.

The Wanderer managed to grip the side of the suspended bridge, while Tyrael regained control of his wings, and elevated himself again. He gripped Diablo, and threw him across the room to the other side of the pit, again rising his holy sword to strike at Diablo.

The battle was terrible. Diablo unleashed his demonic power at him, and he struck with righteous fury. The power binding him to this world was old, and Diablo's was new, and they were an equal match in this battle for Baal's Soulstone. Tyrael knew his duty must prevail.

And everything was lost to the foolishness of a man's weakness. Tyrael knew it in a moment of prescience, feeling Marius' hand a bare inch from the Soulstone. He turned his head, freezing time in Marius' mind. He lifted Marius by the neck over the pit, and shook him, helpless in the Archangel's mental grip.

"Imbecile! The world's destiny was in your hands!" He then shouted to the fool, weak man, to run to Kurast to destroy the Soulstone at the Infernal Forges. And then, time resumed it course.

Marius finished to pull the Soulstone out of Tal Rasha's chest. Tyrael's sword, still risen above Diablo's head, ready to strike down with the final blow, was suddenly snapped out of his hand, falling down into the pit, by Tal Rasha's whip-like appendage. Marius started running out, towards Kurast.

Tal Rasha freed himself from his binds and shot his whips forwards, screeching with a demon's voice. Tyrael stood, knowing his defeat, and Diablo slowly gathered himself and stood up. The Archangel faced both brothers as they lined in front of him. He waited for the coup de grâce.

It came as an explosion of demonic power, which lashed at him with incredible force. The tomb shook with his cry of pain and the release of his energy from this plane to the Heavens. Then, both brothers turned smugly away, leaving a broken Tyrael behind them, to witness in silence and pain the rise of Duriel, called forth from the Hells to watch over the tomb, and destroy the foolish mortal heroes following the Wanderer's steps.

Tyrael was lying on the ground, coiled on himself, and saw, helpless, the show of power of Baal when he called forth the demon. It was a gigantic worm, with a powerful ice aura and razor-like arms. Tyrael was witness to the demon's power, to its ancient and brutal evil, as it bowed before its Masters and agreed to cut heroes to frozen ribbons if they dared to come here. Baal and Diablo left, Tyrael no stranger to their intent, to the oriental city, to free their last brother.

The Archangel could barely lift his head, overwhelmed by the brothers' spell and all the evil surrounding him. He looked as Duriel, the Lord of Pain, came closer, looked at him, and laughed cruelly of his weakness.

"_That_ is the great Tyrael. What a pity."

Then Duriel left this room to go to the antechamber. Tyrael pulled himself up on his knees, then on his feet. He was about to leave this plane, when suddenly he felt something. There was not only Evil here. One bright aura, so really bright, was coming nearer. And the demons were stepping back before it. Yet they were vanquished from existence.

A sparkle of hope gave Tyrael the force to focus his essence on this plane a while longer. He had not the force to intervene in the coming battle, but if the Hero could defeat Duriel, Tyrael needed to tell him to go to Kurast, and stop the brothers before the Three were reunited and free.

Power clashed as the Hero suddenly came into Tal Rasha's antechamber. Duriel aura was foul to feel even across the wall, and Tyrael witnessed as the first demon's hit hurt greatly the Hero. He felt the flickering in the aura of righteousness, but then it shone brighter an instant. Tyrael recognized a spell being cast, then the grunt of pain of the demon. He followed in his innersight the moves of the Hero; he was obviously a spellcaster, practicing the guerrilla against Duriel, running in all directions, trying to avoid being frozen or falling victims to the hits. But the demon was a brutal fighter, and Tyrael was not sure that a lonely spellcaster stood a chance. The burst in the brightness of the aura was weak, indicating low-power spells.

Tyrael waited, seeing the Hero weakening dangerously, Duriel much slowly. Then a town portal opened, and the Hero was gone. Tyrael was surprised, and the disappearance of Light from the tomb made him weaker. He fell to his knees again. He thought in despair the Hero had gone, and was running back to his homeland, cowering in fear of Duriel for the rest of his days, no more a Hero. Tyrael had not even the force to sever his link to this world. He waited, trying to gather his power to leave.

Then the Hero was back, running back through his portal. Tyrael stood again. His aura was weak no longer; he had healed while away. The battle raged in the same way, the Hero running in disorganized rushes, casting weak spells in between runs, for a long time. Duriel was weakening slowly, but steadily. Tyrael felt himself becoming stronger from the Darkness' weakening. But he was still very weak, and could do nothing but watch and be witness to the mortal's courage.

Finally, Duriel fell, in a last rush of spells. The Hero was very near death, having suffered a blow at the very second before the demon's death. Tyrael stood there in shock for a second. Then, he heard the distinct sound of crying. It was a woman's voice.

He walked, too weak to use his wings, to the antechamber. His wings were hanging on his back like a cape, slightly undulating, but not really waving as they could. When he came in the doorway, the Hero was crying no longer. She was sitting, her back against the wall. Tyrael understood quickly she was a Zann Esu. She wore a rune-socketed breastplate, a Jared's stone and a diamond-socketed shield. Her weapon and shield were lying on the floor on each side of her, and one of her hands was clenched to her side, ripped open by Duriel. Tyrael shuddered as he saw that she was holding one of her kidneys in its place with her hand. Her other hand was falling helplessly to her side, the shoulder a mess of blood, torn flesh, crushed bones and ripped metal. Duriel's exploded carcass laid before her feet, a dozen of white worms sluggishly sliding forward, licking blood as they went.

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes hazy, as she saw the light coming from Tyrael. The Archangel paused, brutally reminded of the mortal condition and what it really meant to be weak, not only deprived of his divine energy as in this moment, and she spoke.

"I have been found worthy, after all…", her voice was a low rasp. "I am… honoured. Take me, I am ready."

Tyrael walked slowly forward. He squished the worms under his booted heel. Nothing would feed on her blood in his presence. He knelt in front of her. The potions in her sash had been broken by Duriel's hit. Tyrael then turned to her pack, rummaging through it until he found the biggest healing potion a mortal could drink; a more important quantity proved itself to be toxic. He opened the potion, and gently put it to her lips, tilting her head back with his other hand. She gave him a puzzled look at first, and drank a drop of the potion. As it was to be expected, she began coughing, and Tyrael waited until the coughing was over to pour slowly the rest of the potion in her mouth as she drank, between rasping breaths.

When she was done drinking the whole potion, the wounds on her side and shoulder were still bleeding profusely, but her entrails were back in place. She looked up to Tyrael, then, in silence. The Archangel took a step back, changing from kneeling and sitting on his heels to putting only one knee on the ground, taking a little distance from her.

"Am I still dying? Am I dreaming?", she asked, her voice very low, as though talking to herself.

"I salute you, hero," Tyrael said finally.

She shook her head, as though to clear it. Tyrael could only imagine that she was still confused because of her still-serious injuries.

"I thought you were here to take me away," she said.

"I must speak quickly. I am broken and the energies binding me to this world are fading rapidly." It was true, although her victory and the vanquishing of one of the Lesser Evils had given him some power. "It was my duty to guard the Evil imprisoned here, but I have failed. Destruction and Terror are now freely roaming your world. They must be stopped before they free their brother, Mephisto, trapped in the temple of Kurast. They must not be reunited."

There was a silence. "I understand," she said.

Tyrael nodded, then he gave her a vision of what had happened with Marius, and she nodded again. The color was draining of her face, quickly now, and he knew she needed healing, but there were no other health potions in her pack, only mana potions. He opened a town portal for her; he was broken and barely able to leave this world on his own, but he could at least do that for her.

"Go, now, mortal, with my blessing."

She nodded, and he helped her to stand and step through the portal. When she was gone, the fading of Light was nearly overwhelming; he snapped his few remaining binds to this world, and flew back to Heavens, to heal and recuperate himself.


	2. Injured

_Hello again!_

_First of all, thanks to all the reviewers (yes, you 3, eheheh). Always warms my heart to hear from readers :)_

_Salem's Darkness: Well, sorry, but Baal is kinda going to taste of a certain Sorceress' magic in this story. So if you really love him too much… better start giving him up as lost right now, so you aren't too angry at me when it happens… evil laugh_

_Another chapter of this story… This chapter is short, but the next one will come more quickly. As always, reviews appreciated!_

Chapter 2. Injured

Fara was alerted again by a commotion coming from near the docks. A palpable tension was holding the whole city in its grip right now; everyone was very aware that their Hero, the Sorceress Atsanit, was battling a terrible battle with a terrible foe to try to save them. She had stumbled out of a town portal a little earlier, bloodied and battered, yelling to everyone to get away from the portal as she walked backwards away from it. Demons were not supposed to be able to go through a town portal, but with such a powerful beast, she had not been sure it would work. Many peasants had circled her and helped her to walk to the merchant's square. Fara had met her halfway, healed her, body and mind, and she had ran back to the portal, yelling that she must not let it the time to regenerate and heal itself.

She had seemed in such a frenzy, her breath quick and shallow, her eyes looking feverish. Fara knew the face of fear now; it was hidden deep in those eyes. Yet, the Sorceress had ran back to the terrible battle, without a moment of hesitation at crossing the portal's threshold at the sight of Duriel watching her from the other side, grinning with its demonic teeth and holding one of its arms ready to hit her right as she stepped on the other side.

When Fara heard the commotion, she left her stand under Lysander's guard, and ran to that place near the docks where town portals opened. She was followed by Cain, limping with the aid of his staff. She arrived just in time to see Atsanit step through the portal. Everyone went really still and silent. Even Fara stood there, paralysed, for half a second, as she assessed the Sorceress' state.

It was a wonder she could stand at all. She appeared to have been cut in half at the waist, and her shoulder seemed to have been bitten off. There was blood, her own blood, splattered over all her breastplate, and pouring down on her armoured legs in dark rivers. Half her face was badly burned, and there was blood on her face, and rivulets of tears that had washed away some of the blood. Fara wondered a second time how she could walk on her own.

Fara walked forward slowly; as she came nearer, she saw that the half of her face that was burned was probably this way because of the frost burns. Fara had healed a few of Greiz's men that had encountered vipers and salamanders, so she could recognize the frost burns. Atsanit's hands were also peeled off from the frost spell. The Sorceress had stopped after a few steps, and was looking up to the sun in apparent contemplation. Fara stopped in front of her, but she did not give her any sign of attention.

"Atsanit," the zakarumite called, putting her hand on the armoured shoulder that was not wounded.

The Sorceress turned her head in her direction, and laid her eyes on her. Fara shivered under the wise, calm, infinitely determined gaze.

"Yes, Fara?", Atsanit answered at length.

Fara could not find her voice, so she just called the energies of the Zakarum to her hands, and touched the wound at the waist of the Sorceress. Atsanit expired deeply under the healing spell, almost bending in half, closing her eyes. She only groaned, although the spell must have hurt, judging from the seriousness of her injuries. Then she straightened herself, shook her head, and turned her face upwards once more.

Everyone kept silence, shocked by her silence, all the blood on her armour, and her contemplation of the sky.

"Cain," she called finally, turning her head to where the last of the Horadrim was standing.

"Yes, my friend?", the old man said, taking a step forward.

"I was too late," she informed him. "We must go to Kurast. I trust you understand my meaning?"

Cain's shoulders slumped more than they already were by his great age. "I do, my friend. Let us talk to Jerhyn and gain his approval for Meshif to leave the docks."

"I will need you to talk to me of Tyrael's and Tal Rasha's history again," she said then.

People were starting to recover, and whisper among themselves. Only Fara and Cain, of the assembled, understood what she meant.

"The Archangel was still guarding the tomb?", Cain asked.

"He wanted to warn me, or to give me a mission, I am not sure. He… failed in his duty. There was interference from a mortal in his battle against Diablo. The Wanderer… is human no more."

Cain's face grew sad. Fara and Atsanit kept silence. He had known the Wanderer, and had considered him the saviour of Tristram. Before he was turned from a Hero to the next vessel for the Lord of Terror's essence.

"He is lost, Cain. We tried, we hoped we could do something for him still. But I have failed as surely as has Tyrael. He is lost," Atsanit said.

Cain thought again how things could have turned out if he had known sooner about the Soulstone, if he had understood. He would have told his Hero what was the Soulstone, and how it needed to be dealt with. Maybe, then, the Wanderer would never have come to be.


	3. Determined

_WYYYYYYYAAAAAAA! VACATION TIME WOOOOHOOOOO!_

_Ahem! Well, the least I can say is that I am happy this evil semester is finally over. Erh. I finally got around writing again and must have written like 20 pages of different stuff in 2 days. And so, as promised, here is the next chapter of this little story, a little faster than the previous one._

_Thank you again for reviewing, and keep it up:)_

Chapter 3. Determined

Atsanit returned to Kurast's docks with a sigh of relief. Exhaustion had sunk in her bones for so long that she hardly remembered what starting a day fresh meant. Her arms were heavy and numb from holding her Jared stone and shield in a correct, defensive position all day long, and through a part of the night today. Her head ached from the maintained concentration for hours to regain her mana and cast spells even while she was hit by demons. Her waist and shoulder ached too, occasionally, remembered hits scaring her skin and hurting her flesh. She stumbled as she was stepping outside of the stonegate. Cain was there, and he caught her arm as she stumbled. She straightened herself and thanked him. He identified the spoils of the day, and she went to Ormus for healing and trading. The Skatsimi mage laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, healed her body and her mental energy, and it eased some of the exhaustion from her limbs. She thanked him, told him of her progress of the day, that she had defeated the Council and was now two levels below the surface, in Hatred's prison. He thanked her, and congratulated her for her victory over the corrupted Council. She nodded, then made her way warily towards the little house that had been ranted to her, near Hratli's forge.

She entered it, closed the door behind her and removed her armour. She smelled of blood, sweat and undead. She slid in the bath that a servant girl from the neighbourhood readied for her everyday. The water felt cold, even if it was at the jungle's temperature. But Atsanit was exhausted and half-frozen from using cold spells throughout the day. She scrubbed away the dirt, blood and ashes she had all over her body, then dried herself, as much as it was possible in the jungle's wet air. She slid into a night gown, the only one she had, and collapsed on her bed.

She fell asleep instantly and, when someone knocked on her door two minutes later, it took her a while to wake up.

"Who is it?", she asked.

"It is Hratli. I have brought you dinner."

She was so exhausted she was not really hungry, but she did feel weak after seventeen hours battling demons without a crunch of food.

"Come in, it's not supposed to be locked," she said.

She sat in her bed, rubbing her eyes like a child. Hratli came in, carrying a basket. He set it down on the table, then started to get the goods out of it. There was cheese, a real delicacy these times in Kurast, fresh bred, baked fish with lemon, salted meat from the West, a piece of rabbit, various vegetables and some of the delicious fruits of the jungle. It was now safe to get out of the docks, if you stayed near. Demons appeared to be falling back towards Travincal, no doubt thanks to the exhausted Sorceress in this room.

Hratli looked at Atsanit as she dragged herself out of bed and to the table. Her knees were shaking, he saw, and she seemed to be pulling each feet with colossal effort. He then sat in front of her.

"I also thought I could dare to invite myself to keep you company."

She smiled, then started picking at her food, eating a few crumps of bread, a bit of cheese. Hratli ate his part happily, and after a while the Sorceress seemed to wake, and started eating hungrily.

"Thank you so much, Hratli," she said after she was done cleaning the last crumps of bread. "I would never have had the courage to prepare myself something to eat."

Hratli half-smiled. "It is a much less daring task than forcing your way through hordes of demons."

"Which is a much less daring task than guarding one of the Three for eternity."

Hratli took a second of silence to consider his answer. "No mortal has ever done that," he said at length. "Cain seemed worried by your encounter with Tyrael. He said it made you want to be more than mortal, or be able to do things that no mortal can do."

Then, she made a slow smile. "I know very well what it means to be mortal. I meet demonic or undead enemies on the battlefield everyday. Maybe you have not understood this, but Cain worries that I will give in to the power, that I will succumb to it as the Wanderer has. But I have guidance, I have knowledge. I know what the Soulstone is, and I know what it does to mortals, and I know what is to be done with it. As to my encounter with Tyrael… I doubt anyone can understand what it… brought me."

There was a long pause after that. Hratli finally said: "Will you not explain it to me?"

She shrugged. "It is, obviously, an exercise of humility to face an Archangel. He said he was broken, his energies fading, but he was still a glorious figure of light, with waving threads of light coming from his back, with a glorious, monarchic presence. He seemed, to my eyes, unruffled by his terrible battle against Diablo and Baal. And I was there, my guts spilling out of my body, looking at an Archangel, after crying a while because I was afraid to die."

Hratli's hand twitched. She looked at him, her attention suddenly focusing on his frozen features. "Do not be so afraid, Hratli," she said. "I survived, and I even made some peace with the idea of dying. If it was to be taken away by such a glorious creature, what was to be feared in death? And besides the humility of looking at a superior power, at the very moment I vanquished the most powerful foe I have faced so far, one of the Lesser evils, Duriel, the Lord of Pain – oh, he earned his name – there was… the ideal. The longing for perfection, for a better place, and the Calling. I believe I have known in this instant what a Paladin knows the moment he is called to serve the Light. It might not look so for Cain's worrying eyes, but I do not wish to be more than a mortal. I just wish to achieve my full potential, to serve the Light, and I feel the _need_ to serve… with all I am."

Hratli felt the need to say something, but he was completely silenced by her speech. He had thought her foolish at first to go alone to face the demons. But after a few days, as she was always coming back victorious, but exhausted and battered, he had thought she was maybe a little out of her mind, in a hopeless power quest or on an elaborate death wish. He had come to grudgingly admit the friendliness he felt for her, and that is why he sometimes brought her dinner when she was coming back from her battle very late and tired. Although, he had not expected that speech from her tonight.

"There is more to my meeting with Tyrael that I can explain in words," she added after a while, and this time she was looking far, far into the darkness in the corner of her room, away from Hratli. The sorcerer smith kept silence, and after a while she turned her head back to him, sighing. "Thank you very much for the dinner. But I would rest now, because I have almost reached the bowels of the Temple, and tomorrow I will most likely face the Three assembled. And I would sleep a while and not think of the coming battle for the night."

Hratli stood and, impulsively, blessed her in an ancient kehjistan ritual. It was only three power words, and it was done in two seconds.

"Sleep well, my friend," he said, and he left.

Atsanit looked at him going, and closed the door behind his back. She went back to her bed, and covered her body in the blankets; she felt less cold now that she had eaten, but she still felt the need to cover herself. She laid in her bed for a minute, looking at the ceiling, then she closed her eyes. She did not need any reminder of her encounter with Tyrael. He was already in her thoughts, nearly each minute of her days and nights. She saw him in her dreams, glorious and powerful, his only presence a blessing. She felt comforted in her dreams when he was there, and she was longing for his presence. Always.

ooooo

Of course, she was late again. She had stormed the jungle and Kurast as quickly as it was humanly possible, and she had failed. She found only Mephisto, Baal and Diablo gone away to bring evil to other parts of the world. Mephisto had said, his first challenge as she had come within his sight, that she was too late and that Diablo had already left to gather Hell's armies, to pour upon the mortal realm like a tide of blood and death.

"That is my next destination anyway, after I pluck your Soulstone from your head, Mephisto," she had answered, her voice way too cold and calm for any sane mortal put in his presence.

He had hissed and started to use his spells, most destructive spells, to hit the Sorceress. But she was a fast runner – she surely had magical boots –, and she had the habit of dodging spells. The demon quickly realized that he should be doing the same when he was suddenly hit by a Blizzard.

Both spellcasters, Prime Evil and Sorceress, circled each other, dodging spells as best they could. Her Thunderstorm and Ice shield were things he could not dodge, however, and it was the room utterly filled with Blizzards and her defensive spells that overwhelmed Mephisto in the end. His demonic soul escaped him in a spiral of death spirits, and he fell to the ground.

Atsanit stood over the body, with great difficulty to breathe because of the thunder that had went through her chest a few times. She had learned quite some time ago that health potions only repaired the worst damage; it was no replacement for healing time. But she was allowed none, because now the demon's corpse was changing back to its original form. She knew it was Sankekur, but she knew not the man.

He was gasping his lasts breaths, in a gurgling sound of blood that pitied her. He had fell to his weakness, fell prey to the one beast his duty was to guard. She knelt besides him. She tried to find kind words to give him quickly, and she said, a hand on his cheek:

"You are free from him. He will be destroyed, you can go quietly."

And Sankekur breathed his last breaths, and died, an expression of fear on his face. Atsanit sighed, and covered the body with a cape that one of the Council had worn. She retrieved the Soulstone from the man's body. She took it in her metal-gloved hand, and put it in a bag at the bottom of her pack.

Then she stood, and faced the portal that would take her to Hell. She wondered how she was supposed to go through Hell right now, and without any rest for all the duration of her stay. She drank another potion, letting it the time to kick in and drown most of the pain in her chest because of Mephisto's mastery of lightening. Then she decided she was as ready as she could be, and activated her defensive spells.

And she crossed the threshold.


	4. Focused

_Heeeeeeeello again! Here is the next chapter… arrival in Hell for Atsanit and return of Tyrael into the storyline… Eh, I love Tyrael :). I had a lot of trouble to divide the few next pages into chapters, and it is a little strange, the divisions I made. So, if you have suggestions for that (either now or when I post the next chapter), I will be grateful._

_Heartfelt thanks to everyone that reviewed the story. Thank you so much for letting me now you have read it and (so far) liked it._

_So now… Here you go! Hope you enjoy :)_

Chapter 4. Focused

She had the time to feel her descent through infinite spaces to a place more foul than she could imagine. Then, she felt her course being jerked aside slightly, and suddenly she stepped out of the portal, in a brilliant fortress of Light. It was unmistakable. She turned, but there was no portal to go back through.

Then she turned around once more, trying to figure where she was, her Jared stone ready.

"Easy, Hero," she heard. She turned, and then she was faced to Tyrael again.

She stayed there a second, unmoving, as he floated graciously towards her. After a while, she reclaimed her senses, and knelt, bending her head in front of the Archangel. She stayed there, her breathing quickening, for two seconds at most. She heard the clinking of metal on the marble-paved ground of the fortress, and the Archangel spoke:

"Stand, Hero."

She obeyed in a second state, lifting her head only to see Tyrael kneeling in front of her. This gesture was not one of submission; he was proud even if kneeling, and it was a show of respect, an honour to her.

"I salute you, Hero, you who have stood up before one of the Three and prevailed in a duel with the Lord of Hatred, enemy of the Light, the Elder of the Three."

And then he stood again, and his brilliant silhouette started floating above the ground, his wings expanding on each side of him, their light a tribute to the Light, waving majestically, their spread ten meters. Atsanit stayed there, awe-struck.

"I… am honoured," she said at last.

Tyrael smiled under his hood. Last time he had seen her, she had been seconds away from certain death had he not been there to feed her a potion. She had accepted his instructions with calm and stoicism. And now, almost at full health and mana, she was paralysed by his presence. Her aura was, however, much stronger; the focus on her calling as a warrior of Light seemed much greater, and she had obviously gained in power and spells.

"Is it your power that changed my course through the portal… sir?", she asked. She hesitated before calling him "sir". He knew she chose the title she would have used for a Paladin, and he was honoured that she thought of him as a warrior of Light, he who was not allowed much direct intervention into the Sin War.

"Yes, young Sorceress. I welcome you to the Pandemonium fortress, the last stronghold of the Heavens before the Hells. You will be safe here, and can rest when necessary."

"I thank you, sir."

"You can call me Tyrael, Hero."

"And you can call me Atsanit," she answered with a grin.

Tyrael bowed his head, smiling under his hood. "I will show you to your quarters, if you would, Atsanit."

She nodded and followed the Archangel, feeling awkward, having to avoid his wings in her progress. The fortress was a monument of beauty; it was built in white marble, with tapestries and bas-reliefs, of an admirable craftsmanship. There was a great fresco of the beginning of the Sin War, before humans even appeared. She slowed her walk as she was examining it, seeing the great Archangels battle the Three and the conquest of Pandemonium to the hordes of Darkness. There were pillars of stone of gigantic proportions, erected by immortal hands, shooting up to the roof very high above them. Light seemed to diffuse out of the very stone and, knowing Heavens, it was very possible it was so.

She noticed a stonegate on the left, and Tyrael then stopped by a door to the right. His wing turned the knob, and opened the door.

"Your quarters. If you wish to trade objects or receive healing, Jamella and Halbu downstairs will help you. You can also use the stonegate to bring your friend Cain here if you wish."

She nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Tyrael, for your hospitality."

"Rest for now, Hero, I feel you are exhausted. When you are ready, come to me, I have a… favour to ask of you."

She let the Archangel float back upstairs, and stared after him. Then she shook herself, and used the stonegate to go to Kurast. She reassured everyone who was starting to believe her dead, and she said goodbye to everyone.

Hratli had a peculiar comment to say about her trip to hell, to slide in a good word for him. She looked at him in shock.

"Do not say that, Hratli. I have not even seen it yet, but only being near it in the portal is enough to take away all the humour there might have been in your remark. And if you were not joking, then change your path of life quickly, or you will regret it for eternity."

She turned on her heel, leaving a confused Hratli behind, took her stash, and stepped through the stonegate with Cain. She carried the large chest to her room, leaving Cain to contemplate and discover the fortress.

She entered slowly. The room was small, beautiful and cozy. It was in the colours of yellow, bright and appeasing. There was a big, curtained bed in a corner of the room, high and looking so soft Atsanit walked right to it and probed it with a hand. It _was_ so soft. But she did not wish to dirty it with her armour, so she did not flung herself unto it as she had wished. She turned and examined the surroundings. There was a small desk with a mirror over it, obviously for doing a lady's hair, with a beautiful, nacre brush on it. There also was a small working table in the center of the room, and a pile of cushions in a corner, on a gorgeous carpet, showing a grandiose tableau of the Heavens' realm.

There was a door at the back of the room. Atsanit went to it, and opened it. There was a thermal chamber to the left, with water steaming gently and smelling of vanilla. There was another door to the right. Atsanit opened it, and was left gaping at the spectacle beyond the small balcony. She was high up on a cliff, looking down at the Burning Hells below and the High Heavens above. Divine, blessing Light was falling from Heaven up to here, and deleterious vapours were rising from Hells' floor, although they could not reach her height. She could see the fire of the demons in their occasional clash against one another, although she could not see them from this distance. She only saw bursts of flames here and there. Far in the distance, she could see a gate leading to another part of hell. And there was another beyond it, much further away. It was a coverable distance, but it was Hell, and it was crawling with demons.

She closed the door, and removed her armour, turning her thoughts to something else. The water was very good. It was hot and fragrant, and it eased so much of the pain of her muscles. She felt her chest was feeling better by the minute, much better than the potions had made it. When she was clean, she dried herself, and fell into the bed. She crawled between the blankets, naked, and fell asleep.

ooooo

She woke up much later. She was feeling numb and comfortable. She knew she had slept for a really long time, but she did not know how long. It was the first time in months she had slept so peacefully. She usually slept six or seven hours, then woke, generally because of nightmares, and could not sleep again. She stretched, pushing the covers aside, and sat in her bed. There was a tray full of food next to her bed, with fruit, bread, cheese, cold meat, and even jam. She dressed in a set of clean clothes, and started eating. So nicely offered, she was not about to refuse.

She was half-way through a gargantuan breakfast when she heard a soft knock on her door. She went to open the door and found herself face to face with Tyrael. She felt a flash of silliness to be about to invite an Archangel into her room in the fortress of Heavens.

"Please… come in," she said finally, still feeling really silly.

The Archangel nodded and walked in, his wings curling around him so he could fit into the doorway. "Please, take a seat," she added. Tyrael smiled, but of course she could not see that. It was more comfortable, in this armour of his, to float than to sit, but he took a seat, out of courtesy.

"I am sorry if I kept you waiting," she said. "I… overslept this morning, and I was going to see you as soon as I finished my breakfast… which I guess I have to thank you for."

"Do not apologize for finally taking the rest you needed, Atsanit," Tyrael said. "I felt you were awake, and thought I would talk to you as you finish your breakfast."

"Very well, Tyrael. You spoke of a mission you wished to give me?", she asked.

"I spoke of a favour I wanted to ask of you. You should be careful not to presume too much of your own role in the unfolding events."

He felt her violent flash of shame as he finished his short preaching. He was a little surprised of how deep it had been; he had not meant to beat it unto her, and he had not thought she would react so strongly.

"Forgive my presumptuous assumption, sir," she said. "I will be careful to show… to _be_ more humble in the future."

Tyrael was surprised a second time as she called him "sir". He had not expected one of the strong headed Zann Esu to accept his council with more eagerness than Halbu when he was six years-old. There was something in her aura that had shifted suddenly, and he wondered what. But he was not one who enjoyed pushing into the mortals' minds, so he let the matter drop.

"I effectively have a mission for you. I ask it of you, as a friend, to liberate Izual, who was a friend to me long ago."

Tyrael then started to tell her the tale of Izual, the once-great lieutenant to Tyrael, and how he had fallen prey to the Three and their demons and had been turned against the Light. He also told her that he was bound to the body of a beast, and that the monster must be destroyed to free the spirit of Izual, for his punishment had lasted long enough, to Tyrael's judgement.

"Very well, sir. I will fulfill this mission, if Light grants me the power," she answered.

Tyrael paused, as she was getting to her feet, and getting ready to prepare for battle. "Your power is your own doing, Zann Esu. Pray Light that you are powerful enough, and that you shall use your spells properly, but Light does not grant you power directly."

"I know," she answered simply, assured of her answer, but there was still doubt in the feelings she was projecting, something Tyrael did not understand. "It is just that… that I pray to the Light as I fight, and sometimes I feel like it gives me a courage that is not even mine."

"Light will help you to get the better out of yourself, but it is still yourself," Tyrael said, and then he left her to her preparations.

She sunk to her bed crying as soon as he left and closed the door. She buried her face in the pillow and beat it with her fists, berating herself for being so foolish as crying like a three years-old girl when she was corrected by an elder. She cursed herself of weakness to be so spineless in front of Tyrael. Then she just cried out of despair for her helplessness when he was around, and finally got over it. She sighed in the pillow, threw some cold water to her face, and put her armour on. And she went out of the gates of Pandemonium, readying spells to battle the demons that inhabited Hell.

"I'm way too young for this. For this all. Why did I ever sign up for it anyway?", she murmured as she left the security of the fortress to the sulphurous, overheated atmosphere of Hell, setting foot on the ground at the bottom of the tortuous stairway, her defensive spells a beacon of light that made every demon's eyes turn to her direction.

She heard the sudden, still silence, as demons stopped groaning, and turned to look at her, and the hungry sound they made as they started running towards her. She lifted her hands, and let her power crash amidst them.

ooooo

She fell out of her town portal, seized in convulsions, her hands still trying to open a health potion. The potion escaped her hands as she writhed helplessly on the ground, and Jamella and Cain came rushing to her. Jamella healed her, and she suddenly took a great breath, inspiring for so long Cain thought her chest had to explode. But then she started coughing, and dragged herself on her knees, her breathing still whistling.

Tyrael observed from up the stairs.

She stood, swaying on her feet, and asked how long it was since she had crossed the portal.

"Forty seconds, no more," Cain said.

"Then I have twenty seconds more before it starts regenerating," she said, her posture slowly steadying. "Thank you, Jamella." Then, she lifted her shield and stone, and crossed the portal.

Tyrael looked at her going, and at Cain and Jamella, who looked at the closing portal with worry. Such courage in a mortal forced respect. There was also holy fire in his heart, desire to take part in the fight, to slay the foul demons that would drown the world in a tide of blood, as they put it in their own words. If only he were allowed, the Hero would not need to risk her life, and tumble out of a stonegate or her portal every now and then, on the verge of death, only saved by Jamella's healing spells. Tyrael also admitted to himself that, if she had been an angel, she would probably not have fought with the same urgency. She would have taken considerable time slaying lesser demons, easy prey to her greater skill, to gain experience and power, until she was comfortably more powerful to assault the greater demons. But the Hero did nothing of the sort. She rushed through any demon she encountered regardless of the level of difficulty, running through Hell in an attempt to reach Diablo before he completed the mission he was given by Mephisto to pour upon the mortals' lands and destroy them. She was risking everything in her attempt to succeed. Tyrael reflected that she possessed a nobility that many angels could benefit from taking example of.

ooooo

"The great Hellforge, guarded by Hephasto, the Smith," the Sorceress sneered.

"Indeed, human. I sense the Soulstone you carry, and you will not destroy it. My Hammer will send you to the eternal torment you are sentenced to for your arrogance of coming here," the Smith answered, and he started forward.

"I have known your kind before," she said, thinking of the Smith within the Rogues' Monastery. She said nothing else as she started running the other way, knowing better than trying to stand up to Hell's smith hits, as Hephasto, Diablo's marechal, ran after her with demonic speed, almost as quickly as her with her boots of speed.

She threw Blizzards and Ice spikes behind her as she ran, letting her Thunderstorm fall on the demon every now and then. It was grunting from pain and frustration, not able to hit her as she hurt it, barely enough for it to notice each time, but running for miles. It tried to outwit her by going the other way or not following her, but it was no good since it was only an easier prey to her spells this way. And they were taking their toll.

The demon eventually fell, but not before it got three hits, on three different occasions, on the Sorceress. It had even managed to hit her head once, but her magical circlet took the worst of its hit. She watched Hephasto fall to her feet, her head ringing like a cathedral's bell, and she drank a potion that cleared her thoughts somewhat. Then she gathered the Hammer, and strapped it to her back with the rest of her gear. It was very heavy, and she took a moment to study her new balance. Then she started forward again, and killed the lesser demons that had been defending the Forge in her advance towards the Anvil. She exterminated the last demon that had been near, and surveyed the place with great prudence. There was nothing else alive.

She fished the leather bag containing Mephisto's Soulstone out of her backpack. She put it on the Anvil, and took the Hammer in her hand, letting her Jared stone in its sheath on her back. She looked at the Soulstone for a second, and felt the need to spare it the destruction. She recognized the Evil calling to her, and she lifted the Hammer. She steadied her arm, gathered her strength, and brought the Hammer crashing down upon the Soulstone with all the might of her arm.

The Hammer collided with the Anvil, crushing the Soulstone in between in a demonic surge of power that shattered it. The Soulstone exploded in a myriad of shards smaller than a grain of sand, and dozens of souls escaped it, turning around and wailing the wail of the tortured dead, as Hell shook from the losing of Mephisto's power, the Lord of Hatred.

Atsanit's hand was numb and utterly clenched around the Hammer's handle, as the Hammer drained her of her life and mana to accomplish its dark magic. Atsanit managed to shake her hand free of the handle, feeling suddenly the evil's grip on her body loosening. She shivered, her hand cold and limp, as she looked at the Hammer with fright. She had nearly succumbed to its power, gave in to the intoxicating dark power that rose in her the moment she lifted it. And before that, she had nearly succumbed to plant Mephisto's Soulstone in her own forehead. She gathered the pure gems that had been transmuted from the shattered stone by the Hammer's power, and the Hammer. She could now feel the dark magic coursing it, contained now, but calling out to be released.

She opened a portal. The Hammer needed to be guarded in a safe place until its next utilisation.


	5. Vulnerable

_Hello, I'm back! I have yet another new chapter. I do hope this isn't too long… unfortunately (or not, if you like it, eheh) it will go on for quite some time._

_Thank you so much again for the reviews. I am shamelessly repeating myself here, but you still all deserve a thank you for bringing joy to my heart :-) Now the following for you, my readers:_

Chapter 5. Vulnerable

Cain turned anxiously as he heard the sound of an opening portal. Atsanit stepped out of it, on her feet and calmly. Cain thanked Heavens that she was not on the threshold of death yet again. He walked to her, as he saw her unmoving for a second. After an instant she dropped the Infernal Hammer on the ground; it could be nothing else, as everything from Hell to Heavens had shook from the destruction of the Lord of Hatred's Soulstone.

She was looking at a handful of gems in her hand. Cain stopped a few paces from her. She looked so much as when she had emerged from that town portal in Lut Gholein, after defeating Duriel and meeting Tyrael.

"I am not feeling well," she said. She knelt slowly. "I think I will faint, although I do not know why," she added, stating it very calmly.

Cain rushed forward, and held her shoulder. Her right arm was surprisingly weak under his hand.

"What is it, my friend?", he asked.

She said nothing. She kept staring down, and the gems escaped her hand, rolling on the floor in front of her in a clinking sound.

Cain then felt Tyrael's wing loosening his grip of the Sorceress' arm, and he let go of her, stepping aside. The Archangel gently held Atsanit's shoulders with his wings as he floated closer. Jamella was looking, apparently thinking her healing skills were not required.

"I used its magic, Tyrael," Atsanit confessed then, slowly lifting her head. Cain saw with a shock that she was crying. "I did not mean to. I did not even realize it until after I let go of it." She took a shaking breath, and let out her first sob. "Did it taint me permanently, Tyrael?"

The Archangel kept silence as his wings gently lifted Atsanit to her feet. She was shaking, and he could see she was fighting back her tears. She was shaken beyond reason, but he was reminded once again that she was only a mortal, and much too weak to be expected to go through all she was going through, much less unscathed.

"No, Hero," he answered kindly. "The Hammer's magic was the only magic in all the worlds that could destroy a Soulstone binding one of the Three. You did well to use it, and you managed to let go of its power once your task was accomplished." He said three words, weak power words, in his angelic voice, and touched her forehead. "You are blessed by an Archangel's hand, and the Hellhammer's power will hold no sway over you."

She felt the numbing of her hand disappear instantly, but she broke up crying. She could not help herself or explain to herself why. She just felt shaken to the core, terrified of wielding the power of Hell, and her last resistances snapped, like she had gone beyond what she was.

Tyrael observed, unsure of what to make out of what he felt of her emotions with his angelic senses; she was totally confused, lost even, and he could not discern any particular reason he could reassure her about.

_Come on, Tyrael, I know you can hear me when you wish it. She's done something no mortal should do, and she did it before she was warned of what it did. Can't you see she's terrified and she needs a hug?_, Jamella thought fiercely.

The Archangel slowly pulled the Sorceress, still in his wings' grip, closer, as she was covering her face with her hands and sobbing painfully. Then he floated closer to her, and took her in his arms, whispering weak power words in his Archangel's voice.

_Well, I was thinking of her friend Cain or me, but… obviously this will do_, Jamella added in an afterthought, a little surprised.

Atsanit abruptly stopped crying, as soon as Tyrael's arms closed around her shaking form. She stayed in his arms, shaking still, too shocked and confused to react. Tyrael's words held power, she knew, because instantly she felt warmer, and stopped shaking, and her terror and weakness and utter exhaustion all vanished. She blinked behind her hands, then uncovered her face to look up at the Archangel sheepishly.

"Rest, now, Hero," he said, his voice not devoid of compassion, and she fell asleep.

Jamella and Cain watched as Tyrael lifted the sleeping young woman in his arms. They saw his wings starting to unbuckle her armour and remove it gently, not disturbing her sleep. Then the wings laid the armour at Jamella's feet, apparently to be repaired while the Hero rested. And after that, Tyrael entered Atsanit's room, and he went back out a few seconds later only. Jamella and Cain did not ask questions, and the Archangel suddenly shot upwards towards Heavens, flying with full speed out of one of Pandemonium's windows.

ooooo

She woke much later, yet again. She was tucked in her bed. She felt some confusion for a second, then it started to come back to her; her arrival at the Hellforge, the breaking of the Soulstone, and her use of the Hammer. Her return here, how weak she had felt, certain that the dark magic of the Hammer was going to corrupt her, and irremediably change her. She remembered Tyrael blessing her so that it would not happen, and consoling her… of she knew not what.

He had apparently removed her armour, and laid her to sleep in her bed after he had forced slumber into her. She was not going to protest. The horror, and the toll the events had took on her, seemed a lot further away now. She took a breath, and sat in her bed. She stayed there a while, considering what had happened and what she had done.

Mephisto's Soulstone was finally destroyed.

It was sinking in slowly. Her first great accomplishment in her quest after the Wanderer. There had been the Monastery's conquest, the defeat of Duriel, the death of Sankekur's incarnate, Izual's freedom; but still, nothing of it was as concrete and as definitive as the shattering of the Lord of Hatred's Soulstone.

But there was still Diablo to stop, and he needed to be stopped before he rained death on the mortals' planes. She dragged herself out of bed, washed, and changed her clothes for clean ones, before she put her armour back on; it had been repaired, obviously, and she needed to pay Jamella for the service. Then she got out of her room, looking for Jamella, who also happened to be the food provider of Pandemonium fortress.

She noticed that the light coming from Tyrael was notably absent from the floor of the hearth, higher in the fortress. She frowned, wondering where the Archangel might have gone, and started downstairs towards Jamella's spot.

"Good morning, Jamella," she said when she came within range. " 'Morning Halbu," she added, nodding to the paladin. Both answered with a nod of the head.

"Thank you for repairing my armour. What do I owe you?"

Jamella stated her sum and accepted a few more gold pieces, handing Atsanit a basked of bread, cold meat, cheese and fruit.

"Thank you for the breakfast also. Do you know where Tyrael went?", Atsanit asked.

"He went up to the Heavens, as far as I can tell," Jamella answered simply.

"Why? Did he have a special business? Is there any news from the demons, threats of invasion or armies to the mortal realm?", Atsanit instantly started to worry.

Jamella sighed. "I think not, Atsanit. I believe he was full of righteous fury to be twiddling his thumbs here, and he went to vent his anger on some celestial clerk."

Atsanit looked at Jamella, completely bewildered. "What?", she asked.

"Tyrael believes the Heavens should take a more active part in the Sin War going on between Light and Darkness. This is a secret to no one. He flew out up to the Heavens yesterday, and I think it was to express once more his anger for Heaven's inertia."

Atsanit considered in silence. She was too embarrassed to ask Jamella if it had anything to do with her, and even considering that it might be so was so arrogant that she pushed the thought aside in her head.

"Well… good luck to him. Thank you again, Jamella."

She turned and went back to her room, eating while standing in armour in front of the working table. She emptied the basket, then got out of the room, and took a few minutes to warm up. Then, she took her shield and Jared stone in defensive position, and marched onwards to the stonegate, which she activated to the last point of the River of Fire, and walked forward towards the Chaos Sanctuary, the great Hell fortress, Diablo's place of power and hiding.

Demons circled her. She sighed, lifted her stone and sent out Blizzards and Ice spikes all around.

ooooo

Tyrael suddenly flew back into Pandemonium. Bells rang, somewhere higher, to announce his return. Cain watched him arrive and resume his silent standing near the hearth showing the weapons of defeated angels. His wings were moving differently now, not only undulating from side to side, but snapping at the air forward and backward. Cain studied his books in silence, trying not to attract the Archangel's attention.

Tyrael stood there a very long while, using his extra senses in an attempt to learn something of what was going on deeper in Hell. His conscience was aware in an instant upon his return that the Hero was outside the walls of Pandemonium. But she was too far, and there was nothing for him to learn about her progress. He could not even tell if she was dead.

His anger burned in his heart, the arrogance of the others of the angelic council mocking his love for mortals, saying that this one had already served much, that it would not matter if she died, that she had scored great points in their battle against Darkness. That she would be recompensed properly if she died. That it was her role, and not Heavens' angels', to battle demons. That they could not intervene directly. All of their usual excuses for cowardly weakness. The weakest of them had thrice the power that the Hero could wield, and yet it was her that had the courage and the integrity to face demons for the good of the world, and she was paying day after day with her blood, innocence and lost youth. Yet Tyrael could hardly disobey their order. He had already intervened beyond their usual acceptance just in feeding her a potion and telling her what was going on in Tal Rasha's tomb. And there was truth to their statement that if Tyrael was to descent to Hell to battle demons on their own ground, the world's balance would be shattered forever. So Tyrael waited in silence, keeping his wings from snapping at the walls around him, for the long hours as the Hero was out of Pandemonium battling demons.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Edit: fixed (or at least tried so for the fourth or fifth time) the separator sign which was 3 asterisks that just wouldn't put on screen no matter what I tried._


	6. Anxious

_Hi everyone, I'm back! I thank again all the reviewers (this story is rather the only one of mine that is getting any reviews right now, so to hear from you really warms my heart). Your comments are a great motivation, and I thank you for those._

_And so, here is the next step of Atsanit's adventure: she faces Diablo, Lord of Terror._

Chapter 6. Anxious

Tyrael snapped from his angry calculations at ways to go around Heavens' rules of intervention back to reality.

"The first seal has been broken," he announced, his voice carrying all throughout the fortress. "She faces Lord de Seis, first horsemen of Apocalypse."

Halbu fell to his knees, and started praying. Jamella and Cain prayed too, although more discreetly. Everyone knew a battle such as this one could go on for minutes, and everyone waited anxiously as time spread. Then, after ten minutes had passed, doubt started to creep into their minds.

Fifteen minutes later, Cain sat in a corner of the fortress, and took his head in his hands. Tyrael himself seemed suddenly less sure. His wings stopped their angry snapping, and resumed their waving on each side of him.

Then, Tyrael exhaled suddenly. "The second seal is broken." Diablo's lackey guarding this one was much less powerful, and Tyrael could not make out his name; it was a poison lord, although his particular pedigree was impossible to discern across those distances, even to an Archangel's innervision.

Again, time spread as every soul in Pandemonium fortress held their breath, waiting for Tyrael's voice to announce what was happening. Tyrael tried to convince himself that Atsanit was just resting, simply resting, between breaking seals, and that this was what was taking her so long.

"The last seal has been broken," Tyrael said at last, his voice a whisper now. Halbu was still praying, on his knees, in front of the hearth. Jamella started pacing around, and Cain stayed in his corner, holding his head. Tyrael strained his innervision to catch glimpses of what was happening, but he could not.

The last event, twenty minutes later, needed no announcement on Tyrael's part. The world shivered to its very core, it seemed, as Diablo was freed in this plane by the death of his last minion.

"She now faces Diablo, Lord of Terror, King of Hells," Tyrael said, slowly.

ooooo

Atsanit gulped a rejuvenation potion as the last undead spectre fell to the ground in a heap of bones. She had made it run around in circles for a while, slowing it with Icebolts, the time for her to breathe a little and regain her life and mana. She quickly scanned her spells as the Chaos Sanctuary was shaken, and she heard the groan of Diablo.

She saw the Lord of Terror drag himself up from inside the gigantic pentagram imprinted into the ground of the Chaos Sanctuary. Terror seized her, but she prayed to the Light, and it gave her enough courage to master her spells. Once the battle started, she would not think to be afraid any more.

She stood her ground as Diablo turned to her.

"You shall die here, petty mortal," he said, his voice a tremendous thunder that drummed through her chest.

"I stand before you, Diablo," she said. Then, in a flash of remembrance and defiance, she shot: "I am Atsanit, and I will free the Wanderer!"

Diablo uncovered his demonic teeth and shot forward a bolt of red magic, which Atsanit could not identify. She did not try and simply dodged, feeling the powerful disturbance of the air around it as it breezed by her.

She proceeded to fill the place with Blizzards as she ran in circles around the pentagram, Diablo running after her grunting, occasionally shooting at her a bolt of red magic or a wall of moving fire. She resisted the fire, and dodged as best she could the bolts of red magic. She sometimes teleported across the pentagram to drink a potion, and he sometimes hit the ground with both feet to make it tremble, so that she tripped and fell, and he could catch up with her and plant his claws through her.

She was very tough for a spellcaster, Diablo found, because not many would have had the force to teleport as claws were tearing them apart. She managed it twice, teleporting away and downing potions at an alarming rate. Her Mana shield must have helped. Diablo did not care. She would run out of potions eventually, at the rate she was drinking them, and he could survive her spells. For the time being.

Atsanit was running breathlessly around Diablo, desperately trying to keep clear his spells and claws, but she was battling one of the Prime Evils, and it was no easy fight. Her mind was full of battle strategies and incantations as she cast endless Blizzards and Icespikes at the demon, in-between her Thunderstorm and Teleports.

_Kick yourself, girl, he can't be worse than Duriel!_

ooooo

Everyone back at Pandemonium's fortress was taut as a bowstring. Everyone listened to the silence of Tyrael. Jamella had stopped pacing, too tensed to, and Halbu was now silent, his hands clenched over his sword's hilt. Cain had not moved. He was thinking of how he had been when the hero that became the Wanderer had battled Diablo. He was a lot more confident, and he remembered in a heap that it was precisely the Wanderer that Atsanit was fighting right now. He grimaced, and waited in silence, the endless spiral of his thoughts repeating itself, of what should have been and what could be.

Long minutes stringed by. Everyone waited in anguish. After a while, the air around Tyrael started to hum, as he strained his innervision harder, but the Chaos sanctuary was still beyond his reach.

And then, the whole Realm encompassing Hell and Heaven shook; it did not only shiver as it had earlier at Diablo's return. It shook violently, and Jamella fell to her knees. Tyrael's innervision suddenly jumped over the distances, hauled forward across the now-missing Darkness of Diablo, King of Hell, and he saw the demon die.

ooooo

The great horned demon clenched his claws over his chest, and fell forwards. Atsanit was in front of him, one knee on the ground, coughing blood, heavily leaning on her shield. Then she got to her feet, made a slow, swaying step forward, and pulled the Soulstone out of Diablo's forehead with her iron-gloved hand.

The body of the agonizing demon suddenly shapeshifted into a human, the Wanderer. Atsanit knelt besides him. She observed him an instant; he was a young man, around thirty years-old, with distinguished traits and short, brown hair. His face was scarred with previous battles, and his eyes spoke of depths of pain.

"You are free, Hero. He is defeated, and you are free."

The Wanderer tried to speak once, and his voice was lost in a gurgle of blood. Then he tried again. "Stone…" He interrupted himself.

"I will destroy it. Be at peace, Hero," Atsanit said. And he closed his eyes, and he stopped breathing.

She started to cough blood again. When the worst of it was over, she noted that there were no more potions in her belt. She had drunken them all. She put the Soulstone in a small leather bag, and pushed it down in her pack.

Then Tyrael's attention was suddenly pulled back to Pandemonium. He felt Michael's intervention, warning that his attempt to witness what was happening was not going unnoticed, and that the mortal would come back soon enough, there was no need for him to waste his innervision.

ooooo

Everyone was waiting anxiously for her return, she saw. Jamella ran to her and healed her before she was even completely out of the portal, dragging her last feet through in a colossal effort. Then Halbu offered his congratulations and Cain hugged her, saying he was happy she was still alive.

"Cain, he is… your Hero… he is… free," she said. Her first words.

"Then it is… as well as it can be," Cain answered, with great sadness.

Then she turned to Tyrael. "The Soulstone must be destroyed. Shall I be allowed to use the Hammer again, my lord?"

"Not now, Hero," Tyrael answered. "The Hellforge is yet guarded, and you must rest. But destroying the Soulstone is your duty, and you must obey it."

She nodded. Then she excused herself weakly, and escaped to her room. She slid out of her armour, very tired, and washed in her private thermal chamber. She had been more tired in previous days, but she still enjoyed deeply the refreshing effect of the bath, and did not feel the courage to face the others right now. She reflected for a time how close she had been to end up just like the Wanderer, except she would have incarnated Mephisto instead of Diablo, and would surely have boosted the demon's magic with her own mastery of Ice. She got out of her bath, dried herself, then knelt and prayed for the Wanderer's soul. She asked the Heavens to show mercy on his soul. He had defeated one of the Three in a one-on-one combat, and he had lost a fight he could not win against Diablo's essence. She prayed that he should be forgiven his mortality, the fact that it was not possible for him to resist the Soulstone. Then, she crawled between her sheets, and fell asleep in a soft bed, in Heaven's fortress of Pandemonium.


	7. Discovered

_Hello. Thank you again for the reviews (every now and then I re-read something I wrote (like this particular chapter) and wonder if it's total crap. Then I think back at your reviews, and I keep going (-: ) Btw, Aditu, don't worry for your English. It's not my mother tongue either, so I don't judge anyone, eh! Actually you should be proud to be able to speak another tongue than your own (no matter the unavoidable (sometimes very funny) mistakes and accent and all)._

_-Ahem- Back to this story. Here it takes a kind of turn… so let me know what you think._

Chapter 7. Discovered

She woke with a start, stifling her scream, her heart pounding fast. She jerked her head, and saw Tyrael there, his holy sword drawn, his wings engulfing the room and one touching her shoulder.

"A nightmare," the Archangel sensed, calming down visibly.

She tried to tear herself from the images and infinitely painful sensation of her body transformed to be the vessel of Mephisto. "Yes," Atsanit said. She wiped her face with her hands. "Sorry to have woken… sorry to have disturbed you." She turned away.

His wing left her shoulder, and she almost broke up crying. His touch always felt very comforting. Feeling her sudden shivering of fear, he touched her shoulder once more with his wing.

"You know nothing will hurt you here, Atsanit," he said.

"I know. Please, Tyrael," she said then, her voice controlled and even. "Leave… leave me to deal with my nightmares."

He retrieved his wing in surprise. Then he understood, the senses from his angel's innervision suddenly condensing together, and making sense. "You… love me," he stated.

Her shoulders slumped, and she took a shaking breath, still looking away. "Yes, Tyrael," she sighed. "I am sorry if it is inappropriate, or if you judge me unworthy, but I can do nothing of it."

He floated there in indecision for a moment. It was the very first time anything remotely similar had happened to him. He was an old, powerful and experienced Archangel; it was a wonder that anything managed to surprise him. But this mortal had. He wondered if there was anything at all he could say.

"I am sorry for troubling you," he said at length. "I wished to comfort you from your nightmare. I will leave you now."

She kept looking away as he got out of her room, and closed the door behind him. Then she hid her face in shame. Falling in love with an Archangel. What a… _foolish_ girl she was.

ooooo

She went to destroy the Soulstone the next day. She avoided Tyrael as she slid out of Pandemonium with the stonegate as quickly as possible. She knew what to expect from the Hammer this time and, with Hephasto dead, the Hellforge was not so well-guarded. She quickly made her way through the ranks of the demons and reached the Forge. There she set Diablo's Soulstone upon the Anvil, raised the Hammer, and prayed for the Wanderer and his peaceful rest as she brought the Hammer crashing down. Again the dark power drank of her life and mana to shatter the Soulstone, and again her hand was left numb.

Diablo's Soulstone was also transmuted into a handful of gems and a dozen of wailing spirits as it shattered, accompanied by explosions of fire and a great shaking of the ground. _May Hell cower in fear for losing its master, and never spawn another army to invade the lands_, she prayed.

She opened a portal, and walked back to the fortress. There she received the congratulations of Halbu, Jamella and Cain. And then, Tyrael stepped forward. She looked at him floating down the stairs, and stopping before her. She knew she blushed deeply, remembering what he knew she felt for him, but stood up to him nevertheless. He was an Archangel, for Heaven's sake, he sure could be gallant about something she did not control?

"I salute you, Hero, who have stood before Mephisto and Diablo, and banished their spirits forever.", he said, as he knelt shortly. "As you were battling here, Baal was on the mortal plane, gathering armies. He is going in search of the Worldstone, the origin of the Soulstones." Then Tyrael explained to her what was Baal's plan. She concentrated on his explanations, and her focus made the embarrassment disappear.

"He… reclaimed his Soulstone of Marius?", Atsanit asked. Her compassion for the weak men was exemplary.

"The man never crossed Hell's gate in Kurast," Tyrael answered. "He was captured by Baal after a few weeks of fleeing."

Atsanit nodded. "The coward met his fate. Although I doubt Baal was merciful out of gratefulness."

Tyrael opened a portal for her, a portal that would lead her to Harrogath, the last Barbarian city on the slopes of Mount Arreat, the great mountain, where the Worldstone was guarded. She stepped through it, greatly relieved to be out of Tyrael's presence.

She tumbled out of the portal on a snow- and wind-beaten stairway, and looked at the city from her elevated spot. It was not big, but it had not suffered much warfare either, apparently; only the gates were scorched with fire burns, but no trace of catapult works. Baal's army maybe was not so bad after all, counting solely on the number of demonic fighters to defeat the Barbarians, instead of a tactical attack that would eliminate their city.

There was a smith downstairs to her left, and an old woman was slowly walking to her on her right. Cain suddenly tumbled out of the portal too. She walked towards the old woman, and was welcomed officially by Malah to Harrogath, city of Barbarians.


	8. Failed

_Thank you all ever so much! I've never had so much reviews in such a short time! I'm delighted! Excited! Glad! Fortunate! Grateful! Happy! Exuberant! Extatic:-)_

_Just to clarify a little thing… I've had classes of English since I'm about ten, but I could hardly make a sentence. Until, on my 16th birthday, my mother bought me a computer and internet access (that was quite an awesome gift… I would have preferred a horse at the time, but eh, we're not rich and a horse is horribly expansive if you don't have a barn, and a horse wouldn't fit into my apartment now!). So I discovered the marvellous world of internet… 80 or so of which is in English. So I learnt English. That is what I mean when I say that I came to English "late" in my life, but that still leaves me a few years since to read and listen to TV a lot :-). After doing so twice myself, I give congratulations to anyone with the actual courage to be learning someone else's tongue._

_I'm rather relieved too that you didn't find the last chapter completely… uhm… "quétaine" wouldn't mean much to you eh… cheesy? I kinda hesitated for two years before I actually brought myself to writing anything of the sort about Tyrael because I just felt like Atsanit – for Heaven's sake, he's an Archangel! I can't be writing this sort of stuff about him, can I?_

_And just a side note of curiosity, especially addressed to you, Aditu, since when exactly have you "known"? Was it clear from chapter 1, or later on?_

_BloodHeron: thank you very much._

_Tegaladwen: thank you very much too._

_Salem's Darkness: lol you're back! I've certainly noticed your whirlwind attack on my reviews' account eheheh And… would you please tell me what XDOMG is supposed to mean? And (-scowling-) you know that Tyrael doesn't just distribute hugs around, you do? And Atsanit didn't ask! Jamella did :-)_

_And I'm also curious why all of your names sound like masculine (well… I could be mistaken), while romance is a traditionally feminine favourite style._

_Yeeeeeeeeeeeeesh longest ever intro to a story… gonna boost my word count by … dunno… 200? So, now…_

Chapter 8. Failed

She went up the slopes to the Mount's summit, using underground tunnels when necessary. She broke the siege closest to the gates, freed the Barbarian prisoners, discovered Nihlatak's treachery, freed Anya, and finally reached the summit, where the Ancients were. She did not have the Sacred relic, which was now Baal's possession, and had to go through the old way, hacking through ancient manifestations of power to prove herself worthy. She used her guerrilla tactic and ran on all sides, avoiding three Ancients together, as she shot Ice orbs, her newest and most powerful spell, in all directions. And she entered the Worldstone's temple, the new playground to Baal, Lord of Destruction.

Many Barbarians had proposed to accompany her on her quest as mercenaries. She had just smiled, saying that, if she had gone through the Burning Hells on her own, she could surely do this alone. Qual-Kehk had shrugged, saying some of his men were always ready to help her if she changed her mind.

She did not. She cleansed the slopes, the tunnels and the temple's floors alone, demons running to their death each time they faced her. She prayed to the Light as she fought, when she was not too busy with incantations, and it seemed that Baal's focus on her was more confused when she prayed. She could stay still a while longer without him calling lightning or poison upon her.

She finally reached the last floor of the temple. Even her, a simple mortal, could feel the power of the Worldstone here; it made magic hum and shiver between her hands as she was summoning it.

She faced the succubi that served Baal, running away to hide behind a wall's corner when they cursed her in a way that drained her of her life instead of mana when she was casting spells. Casting high-demanding spells as was her Ice orb, she always emptied herself of her life rapidly when they did. But she defeated them. All of them.

And she came face to face with Baal, Lord of Destruction, standing on his eight demonic legs on a small platform holding a portal no doubt leading to the Worldstone's chamber.

"You will not have the Worldstone," Atsanit said. "I have defeated both your brothers, and I will defeat you."

"I am afraid you will not have that pleasure," Baal answered. "I even believe you will not even have the honour to die at my hands."

The demon raised a hand then, and she was faced with a group of fallen ones, the annoying little monsters. They were, obviously, no match to Ice orbs. Hordes of demons followed one another, leaping at the Sorceress at Baal's bidding. She vanquished them all, sometimes running far back into the temple, out of sight of the Prime Evil, in her run to escape spells or hand-to-hand confrontation with physically superior opponents. But eventually she killed the last Ancient Horadrim he threw at her, and came back to face him, walking slowly.

He burst into laughter, and crossed the gate. She gathered a few potions from the ground, where monsters had let them fall in their death, before they were able to drink them. She restocked her sash, drank a rejuvenation potion to regain some stamina, and crossed the portal after Baal.

In a flash, she remembered Cain saying that Baal was preventing Tyrael from taking physical form into the Worldstone chamber, and cursed herself for having the foolishness of facing that demon alone. If he could stop an Archangel from taking form, who knew what he was capable of in the ways of magic. But it was no time to hesitate, and Atsanit prayed.

She landed to the side of the Worldstone. She looked up and down into the depths and heights of the chamber at the Worldstone in a moment of awe. Then demonic appendages pierced the ground around her, and she started casting her spells to freeze them, searching for Baal with her eyes.

She saw with a little unease that he was very close to the Worldstone; he was tracing something on its surface, saying power words in the tongue of the demons. The only way to reach him was a narrow stone bridge, where there was no way for her to escape his spells if he decided to throw something at her.

She ran there nonetheless, and ran straight at him, an Ice orb before her. Of course, he answered in kind, with a wave of spiralling energy that reminded Atsanit of Diablo's power; only this one was not a focused beam, but a wave she could not dodge. She was pushed back by the force of it, her mana and life half gone when the spirits let go of her.

She hid at the side of the bridge, at an angle from which Baal could not reach her with spells, and downed two potions, one after the other. Then she started firing an Ice orb each time she passed before the bridge, but running immediately to the other side. She was caught a few times by a wave of spirits or of ice, Baal being far from stupid and anticipating her moves, but the manoeuvre proved too little effective to the Lord of Destruction's taste, and he suddenly teleported right next to her.

Atsanit doubled vigour as she ran around him in circles, firing spells at him and drinking potions way too often for her liking, but she had ample space to teleport away and drink potions if necessary. Her whole body was in pain, from all the spells she had took, despite the potions. Baal was hurting too, she could tell, but his spells did not waver, and she was very careful not to come within range of his claws.

At a time, he spawned a copy of himself, but her Ice orbs hit both equally. He was close to death, and she cast frenetically, avoiding his waves of energy as best she could. First the copy fell, then, two Ice orbs later, the Prime Evil.

He released a wave of spirits the second before he was hit by the body of the Ice orb, and Atsanit was not able to dodge, busy casting her own spell. The spirits drilled through her body, and tried to tear her apart as they were pushing her away from Baal's dying carcass. They escaped of her chest, breaking a few of her ribs, and she fell to the ground, writhing in pain, her lungs filling with blood.

She dragged herself to her knees, her breath a rasping, whistling thing, and managed to drink a potion. She walked slowly to Baal's body, spilling his guts out, his demonic legs twitching. She removed the Soulstone from his chest, in a raging gesture. Then it happened again, the demon shrinking back to human size, a broken body that had harboured a demon's strength and essence. She knelt. She remembered this one was Tal Rasha, the great Horadrim, having sacrificed himself so that Baal would be imprisoned forever. He had given not only his body, but his soul to the eternal fight, and even her had not done so much for the world in her fight against the Three.

"Baal is trapped, and defeated, Tal Rasha," she started. The eyes of the Horadrim mage turned to her. His breathing was slowing. "Your battle is over. Go in peace to the Light for your courage and sacrifice, Tal Rasha." And he closed his eyes, Atsanit's hand on his cheek, a gesture of compassion that would carry him through the realms of the dead.

Then the Worldstone's chamber started to violently shake, and Atsanit fell to the ground, unable to keep her balance, too wounded and tired, and the will for the fight gone from her heart. She tried to remember the sacred importance of her duty to destroy the Soulstone. But she thought of the Wanderer gone, of Sankekur betraying his duty, of Tal Rasha fighting for millennia against Baal for nothing. She felt her insignificancy, all her efforts apparently lost as the Worldstone started to shake the whole world. She had failed. She had been too late for the Wanderer, for Diablo to cross the gate to Hell, for Baal to raise his demonic army and come here to corrupt the Worldstone. What did it matter that Baal's Soulstone was buried here with the corpse of two Heroes that had merely delayed his plan for a time? She started to cry, and asked forgiveness for her failure. She resisted the urge to try to justify herself, to say that she had done the quickest she could possibly do. She stayed there as stone started to fall from the ceiling, far above. Soon, she would be buried, and demonic armies would spawn from the corrupted Worldstone into the Barbarian lands, and from there to the rest of Sanctuary. She cried, and prayed for forgiveness.


	9. Intervention

_Thank you all very much for your reviews again :-) Lol, now I know why I get reviews, there_ are_ a few girls actually playing and reading Diablo eheh! So, here is the end of the game storyline. See what happens when Tyrael reached the Worldstone's chamber… _

Chapter 9. Intervention

Tyrael felt the snapping of his bonds, as Baal was defeated. He heard, in the angelic innerspeech, Michael and the others entrust him with the task of destroying the Worldstone, and see to the conclusion of the saga of Baal's Soulstone; at least, they had the wisdom to admit what had to be done, and the humility to give this task to him.

He lost no time in descending upon the world of Sanctuary and into the Worldstone's chamber. Jamella and Malbu saw him start to pronounce power words of great magnitude, then the ground opened under him, and he disappeared into it, his wings folding upright.

Tyrael slowly descended into the Worldstone's chamber, quickly spotting Atsanit next to Tal Rasha's body. He floated gently down towards her, and she lifted her head to look up at him, when she perceived his light.

He saw the tremendous effort she made to lift her body from the ground, her pride in not letting her weakness keep her on the ground before him. He sensed the weight of a ton in her heart that she had failed. He extended one of his wings' filaments to help her up. Her face was covered in ashes, and tears had traced down her cheeks, washing out the ashes. When he came nearer, he began to hear her whistling breathing and, quickly scanning her wounds, he saw the opening of a spirit that had escaped her ribcage, when it could not kill her. He knelt besides her, and put his hand to her wound, making her wince, and pronounced a single word of power. He felt the wound close and the blood drain from her lungs under his fingers.

She blinked, looking at him.

"I… thought you could not help me directly," she said.

"I could not, you are right. But my intervention in this particular matter has been warranted, and I will give you my assistance."

He helped her up, his wing holding her arm gently. He told her that the Worldstone had been corrupted, and that the only way to ensure Sanctuary's safety was to destroy it.

"Then I have failed to the end," she stated, and he sensed the shame she was feeling.

Tyrael, dark Tyrael, plagued with responsibilities and a duty to the world a mortal could not really comprehend, burst into laughter.

"If you wish to place blame somewhere for the Three freeing themselves and accomplishing this much, place it on me," he said to a really puzzled Sorceress. "I have given them the Soulstones. I have been betrayed unknowingly by one of my lieutenants, the greatest warrior of Heaven's armies, who gave the knowledge of the Soulstones to the Three. I have failed to see Marius's threat, and have lost my fight to the Wanderer, allowing him to free Tal Rasha, utterly failing in my duty to guard the Lord of Destruction, so that Tal Rasha's sacrifice was not in vain. I, an Archangel. While you, a mortal, have defeated the Three Prime Evils in a one-on-one combat, have secured all of the Soulstones, and have even had the strength of heart to show compassion to those that fell to the Three's power and that you defeated. You have succeeded all through the end where I failed. Now it is in my power, because you have allowed it, to stop forever a threat of the Hells invading this world. And I will do it, Hero, in your honour, and Sanctuary will forever remember your name."

She looked at him, completely subdued. Then she made a slow smile. "Well, sir preaching Archangel, I sense I will have trouble not to presume too much of my role in the unfolding events in the future."

Tyrael smiled under his hood, but she could not see it, of course. It was barely a minute since he had descended from Heaven to this place, but the chamber was starting to shake more violently.

"You must now go back to safety, Hero." He turned, and lifted a hand to trace a portal into the air, but she put a hand on his arm. It was a most presumptuous gesture, but Tyrael did not even notice. He turned to her.

"Can I not see?", she asked. "Can I not see the final act of my quest?"

Tyrael considered. "I will grant it to you," he accepted.

He walked slowly to the bridge of stone, and faced the Worldstone. Atsanit walked after him, staying a certain distance from him.

"Please, from now on, do not move," he asked, half turning to her. She nodded wordlessly.

Then she saw him turn to face the Worldstone. His wings expanded suddenly, and started to wave forward and backward, their spread growing from ten meters to nearly a hundred. His wings also gained a special appearance, a sheen of blue waving between the white filaments of light. She saw him unsheathe his holy sword, and rest the tip on the stone floor. He put one knee on the ground, closing his hands on the hilt of the sword, and bent his head.

Atsanit was shaken when he pronounced the first word of power. He was talking in a really low voice, but his words echoed through all the chamber and she felt the drumming of their power within her chest. His wings expanded yet, as he was chanting the power words one after the other, so very powerful. Suddenly a lightning shot from the roof, and hit one of the pillars on each side of the bridge. Atsanit jumped, but obeyed Tyrael, and did not move, looking as the pillar lighted with a blue-white flame, and Tyrael continued his chanting.

A second lightning soon shot, and the second pillar started to burn with holy fire. Atsanit turned her eyes to Tyrael, and she saw his sword take a golden glow, suddenly glowing fiercely as Tyrael finished his incantation. He stood and hurled his sword with all his angelic strength to the Worldstone.

Atsanit covered her eyes with a hand as the sword collided with the Worldstone's surface, which exploded in a great light. She lowered her hand to see the surface starting to undulate as a portal's interface did, the waves expanding outward from the point of impact. Tyrael's wings suddenly stretched in the air as a screen, and Atsanit saw shards of stone collide with them, and spare her.

She looked up and down as a flaw was running the Worldstone up and down from Tyrael's sword, and started to shatter. Atsanit looked, and felt the shattering stir something deep in her heart. Its magic was being vanquished, and it was a strange sensation. Then the flaws began to multiply, and the shattering accelerated.

Tyrael's wing shot backwards, gripped her wrist tightly, and she was carried with him through space as he gated them out of the Worldstone's chamber.

ooooo

They set foot in reality again in Pandemonium fortress. Atsanit merely blinked, still in shock before the display of power that had shattered the Worldstone. Tyrael's wing let go of her wrist, and she jumped.

She turned to look at the Archangel. Tyrael was a little further away; he was down on one knee, his wings falling out of the air to the ground, where they were waving slightly, and she saw that he was shaking. She stayed there in silence a second. She lifted her head to look at Malbu and Jamella rushing to see what was happening, but they soon saw Tyrael on his knee, and decided not to disturb him.

Atsanit walked slowly until she faced the Archangel. She wondered if it was because of her presence that he was so drained, having to protect her from the shards of the Worldstone and to gate her here, or if it was the mere power necessary to shatter the Worldstone that had taken its toll. She knelt in front of him, looking up into the shadow that hid his face. She would have wanted to see his face. He was tall and, even if he had his head lowered, she still looked up into his hood. She put a hand on his arm. His wings twitched around him, but he said nothing.

"Is there something I can do for you?", she asked, honestly.

There was a silence, before he said: "No, Atsanit."

She nodded, but let her hand on his arm for a while, and he felt clearly that it was how she would have accompanied a friend in a moment of weakness. Then she seemed to remember how presumptuous it was, because she removed her hand. Faced with his continued silence, she stood and took a step back. His wings were already starting to lift into the air once more. She waited in silence, patiently, for half an hour, his shaking subsiding, and his wings waving up into the air once more. Then, he stood, but stayed still and silent for another half an hour. Atsanit was looking at him, standing in front of him, shifting from foot to foot occasionally.

At length, he walked up to the hearth. He took one of the holy swords there, one that was burning with a white fire, with red runes along the blade, murmuring a prayer as he took the hilt.

He turned to Atsanit. "Now it is time to destroy the last Soulstone," he said.

She nodded. "If you would allow me to wield the Hammer once more, Tyrael, so that I can go to the Hellforge."

Tyrael took the Hammer from the display at the hearth, and presented it to Atsanit. She bowed slightly before she took it from his hands, and strapped it to her back.

"If you would allow me, Atsanit, I would help you in this task, and be witness to the last of the Prime Evils being banished forever," he said then.

She stopped. "I would be honoured," she answered. There was a silence. "Although I do not understand. Are you not forbidden by Heaven to take direct action into the fight?"

"Not against Baal," was Tyrael's answer. He knew Heaven would be incensed at this unnecessary intervention, but it was not the first time he stood up to Heaven's wrath, and he had in the past for worse reasons.

"Very well."

They used the stonegate to go to the River of Fire. Demons inhabiting the area turned to them, and Atsanit felt their unease as they saw an Archangel, the one known to them as the Warrior Archangel, drawing a holy sword. She summoned her defensive spells, and Tyrael started forward, walking or floating when it suited him, his wings waving on each side of him, his sword wielded with unequalled skill in all the planes. There was hardly anything for Atsanit to do behind him; even her Ice Orbs hardly had the time to reach anything before demons were vanquished by Tyrael's holy sword. He was fighting gracefully, skilfully, with speed and grace no human possessed. He used his wings to push away the demons; the lesser demons ran in fear before the mere sight of the light he was producing with his wings and armour.

The divine fury pushed through the demons' ranks effortlessly, and the disorganized demons, without their marechal Hephasto, without their King, and without their Three Prime Evils, were lost to the sword of Tyrael or to the spells of Atsanit.

The Archangel and the mortal reached the Hellforge. Atsanit took Baal's Soulstone out of her pack, and set it on the Anvil. She took a breath, taking the Hammer, and thought of all that was about to shift into the past. She thought of the Barbarians that felt like they had failed their duty in letting a stranger climb their mountain and defeat Baal in their stead. She thought of their duty that was finished, of the Worldstone's magic that was gone from Sanctuary because of the ambition of the Three.

Tyrael started to grow worried at Atsanit's apparent hesitation to shatter the Soulstone. As he was going to say something, Atsanit said:

"Let it be the end."

She lifted the Hammer, her face becoming a mask of determination, and brought the Hammer crashing down upon the Anvil. Tyrael saw the clenching of all her body under the magic of the Hammer, and the Soulstone exploded into a dozen of lesser gems, balls of fire and dead spirits escaping it. The spirits swirled around the Hellforge, wailing in their torture, and finally were freed.

Atsanit staggered back, her limp hand dropping the Hammer to the ground, her vision blurry. It had been more demanding this time, maybe because of the Soulstone's power. Tyrael's wing steadied her. The cold of her hand was slowly creeping up her arm. She did not move. The Archangel floated to her, and blessed her as he had once before.

"Your triumph is complete, mortal," he said. "No one before you have faced, defeated and banished Evil as you have."

"And no one shall have to in the future, I hope." Her voice was deeply wary.

Tyrael let go of her shoulder with his wing. He opened a portal to Pandemonium, and dropped the Hammer through. Then he closed it.

"Are we not going back?", Atsanit asked. She was exhausted, and it was obvious in her voice.

"I will… take you back to Sanctuary," Tyrael said.

She nodded, not even asking where they were going; he sensed she thought he would naturally take her back to Harrogath. He opened a portal.

"Thank you, Tyrael, for… for everything." She searched for words an instant longer, but then she just bowed, and crossed the portal. He followed before she even realized that he had meant to accompany her.

It was the night in Sanctuary when they emerged from the portal. Atsanit lifted her head to look at the stars, barely showing through the ever-present clouds of the jungle, and then looked at her surroundings. She knew this place; it was a small clearing near the Zann Esu's village from where she was from. On one side of the clearing was a small pound, back to purity now that demons were gone, with frogs, Nature's frogs, signing their calming sounds in the night air. Then she saw the light indicating Tyrael's arrival. He let his wings put him on the ground on his feet, and made a gesture with his hand, his light dimming greatly.

"You took me back to Kehjistan?", she asked. "So close to the Zann Esu? Are you not afraid that one will perceive your arrival?"

He paused. "They have not," he answered. "Now, you should sleep, Atsanit."

"Here? Why… oh…", she said, as she yawned irrepressibly. And then, she surrendered to his will, recognizing a divine order in his voice, but did not care to fight it. She lay down on the moist floor of the jungle, in her armour, and fell asleep.

Tyrael unbuckled and removed her amour with his wings, careful not to disturb her rest. He stretched her cape on the floor under her. He blessed her once more, so she would not have nightmares, gifted her with a slight power word that would make her rest deeper, and started the long watch over her sleep.

He sat close to her, his wings waving a gentle light over her face in her sleep. He gathered his knees in his arms, a surprisingly human gesture, and watched her. He was surprised not to hear from the angelic council or from other individual Archangels. The incredible shift in their responsibilities with the end of the war with the Three maybe was knocking some sense into them.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, and the lesson of humility she had taught him. He remembered also the innumerable times when she had come back from fights on the threshold of death, her great courage and her determination in doing what needed to be done. He admitted to himself that not many angels had done the same. If there had still been any serious threat to fight for Heavens, she would have earned the right to be knighted an Archangel. But Tyrael was not sure any Archangel would ever be knighted again. It was a life not fit for mortals, whose minds could not always encompass all of their angelic senses, and no other mortal would be sacrificed for Heaven's sake unless a serious threat arose again. He wondered how he could explain it to her.

How he could also explain to her why he was here with her right now. He was very self-conscious for an instant, realizing an Archangel attracted to a mortal in this way was foolish. But he had a long life behind him, and he had never been a mortal. He was born a power of Heaven, bound to its rules and will, and he had strived more than once to overcome it. And he had never had a better reason before, and never known this yearning in his heart, not even for Paradise's light itself. He knew not how to explain it to her either. But she deserved to know, and he smiled to himself as he looked at her beauty in her sleep. He had set eyes on many a female angel's face, but nothing could compare with her in his heart. She shivered from the humidity and the cold, and Tyrael's wing made a blanket for her.

He had always loved the mortals, to many angels' dismay, and he was now discovering why precisely, in a most unusual way. His wing caressed her cheek in her sleep.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_WARNING: I've been writing ahead a bit, so I can proof-read later when the story has "decanted", and I quickly realized I'm going to have to do something. I either re-write a "lighted" version of the next chapter, or change the rating. I consider changing the rating, unless you all unanimously agree that it's not a good idea because you're all under 17 and would have to stop to read this story from this point on because the rating will be R. So unless you complain (I encourage you to express your views on the matter… I'm writing for you after all!), this story will be rated R when I post the next chapter in about a week. WARNING: THE STORY WILL DISAPPEAR from your default Diablo page, you'd have to manually change the rating selection at the top right. Just warning you so you won't think I removed the story. So, review and let me know what you think of the current chapter and of what I should do for the next one!_


	10. Revelation

_Thank you all so much for the reviews, Aditu, BloodHeron, 2sidez-Samecoin and Tegaladwen. I am really honoured to have so dedicated readers!_

_You can't know how much I've worked, waited, re-worked, and sweated blood and tears over this damned chapter! I've never, _ever _written a scene like that before, and by now I'm so embarrassed and so ready to throw up out of "écoeurentite aigüe" if I have to re-work it another time that… that…! I decided to post it as it is. It's not quite as I would like it, but… (sigh). I think that if I get no encouragement after this, I will run away forever from fanfiction and never look back._

_So… before I change my mind I post it._

Chapter 10. Revelation

Atsanit woke a few hours later only, and it was still the night. She pushed the sheets aside, a little confused, and suddenly realized what the sheets were, and remembered what had happened. She jumped, looking at Tyrael, sitting next to her, his wing still covering half her body. She was embarrassed, and she knew he felt those things.

"Are you feeling better?", he asked gently.

Actually, she did. Like she had slept twenty-four hours in a row. "Yes, I do," she answered, but could find nothing to add after that.

"You wonder why I am here," he stated, his wing being pulled back towards him, sliding on her naked legs in a delicate caress.

"Y-yes, I do," she repeated, repressing a shiver, wondering why she was suddenly almost overwhelmed by desire in his presence, instead of feeling embarrassed as she usually did to be so out of her league.

"I tried to find a way to explain it to you," he said. His voice was different; it sounded more human, less Heaven-borne. "I find no words, but there are many ways for my angelic senses to tell it to you. Do you wish me to show you?"

This was going too fast for her to understand it. "A-Alright," she answered.

Tyrael floated to her slowly, and she looked at him coming closer with a totally confused look on her face. He removed one of his gloves. She let out a shocked gasp as she saw his skin. It was shining like his armour; he had a delicate but powerful hand. He felt that she was almost afraid; she knew humans were not supposed to see angels, even less their uncovered features.

"Do not fear," he said. And he touched her hand.

She knew instantly that it was the first time a mortal saw or touched an Archangel's skin. She felt the liberation Tyrael experienced, and she sighed with him of shared release. He learned through her perception that his skin was hot to the touch, mostly like a fevered man. She became aware of his long life; she knew he had lived long, but the contact with him made her realize exactly how much time he had gone through, and she felt a dizziness to know it. She was aware also of his birth as something completely alien to the mortal world she knew. She felt the distance between their experiences of life, and again she felt dizzy to witness it. And she felt what she already knew was there in his heart, his longing to understand the mortals, his love of them. She learned of his admiration of her with surprise, her surprise growing as he told her what she had taught him, and that she had surprised him. She felt his overwhelming experience and power that could prevent him from being surprised at anything, because he could almost guess anything that could possibly come to be. Then, he lightly brushed his thumb across the back of her hand, a tender gesture that surprised her. His feelings turned suddenly to the stirring in his heart, to his attraction to her. And she recognized in him something he could not even identify himself, because he had not been born to know it: love.

She concentrated a while, before she could regain control of her own senses and speak: "Tyrael… are we…" She paused. "I do not know what to do, or to say. I am… more grateful than I can say to be worthy of your… love." She lifted her face to look at the shadow of his hood, and he saw the calm in her face, the acceptation of his feelings for her, the relief not to be so foolish after all. "But… I am only a mortal, and I doubt the… _distance_ between us is likely to become smaller by the minute."

"I was not sure what love was," Tyrael then confessed, with a touching naïveté. "You have taught this to me too." She smiled sweetly, and the stirring in his heart doubled.

"I am glad you could gain some understanding of the mortals because of me," she said.

"No, Atsanit, do not fool yourself," he answered. "This is not only that. I do not simply wish to understand the mortals. This is a feeling I am feeling for you, and I wish to live it, because I am a person behind the Archangel's responsibilities, and as a person I wish to live the feelings that I have." He made a pause, and his voice dropped, sounding even more human: "You are more… so _much_ more… valuable to me than a simple tool in my learning."

She smiled brightly, and tears shone in her eyes. "Tyrael… I am honoured, but I… I do not understand. I do not understand… why you… how you can live this feeling. I know I can go back to the fortress of the Zann Esu, be the guardian of the doors for the rest of my life without fear of anything coming to face me, and remember you… tenderly… in the secret of my heart for the rest of my days. That is what comes for me from my love of you. But you? I do not know, Tyrael. I do not understand."

"You have banished the last of the Three tonight," Tyrael reminded. "This night is a moment in Time. I love you tonight; I am learning what loving means in this very moment. And there is no Heaven to stop it, there is no Michael to put his nose in my actions, there is only what I choose to do of this moment of freedom." He saw in her face that she did not understand. He stretched his angelic senses again, and shared with her what the Eve of the Three meant for Heaven, what it meant that it was _over_. He also shared with her that she would have become an Archangel in any earlier moment of history. How his intricate responsibilities were lessened suddenly, thanks to her grand actions. "See how I am free now," he said, pointing out with words at what he was telling her with other means. "Heaven and responsibilities will catch up with me sooner or later, but tonight… you freed me."

She kept looking at him in silence. He felt how deeply moved she was, and it touched his almost newfound heart. He let go of her hand slowly, and the snapping of their bound hurt him. She winced, and reclaimed her hand as though he had bitten her. She was looking at him with a wounded look on her face, her feelings much more distant. He needed a moment to dim his light correctly again, bursting with light in the silent jungle for a few seconds. He scanned the surroundings rapidly, feeling there was no one to notice his burst of light.

He lifted his hands slowly, and he sensed the almost unbearable waiting that she felt, her hurt forgotten, how she could hardly breathe at all. He lowered his hood on his shoulders. The hurt and the waiting were gone from her. She was observing him in complete shock, her mind almost refusing to accept that Tyrael, the Warrior Archangel, had shown her his face.

"Do not fear," he repeated. "Heaven's wrath will not smite you for my disobedience."

Then she swallowed, hard. She seemed about to say something, but kept silence for a while longer, examining his features with bold curiosity. He wondered what he looked like to her eyes.

"You are beautiful," she whispered.

He smiled, and she saw his smile for the first time. He had almost human features, although they were far too perfect to be those of a human, and his skin was shining. He looked very young, younger than her even, a face spared by time and battles. His hair was blond, just long enough to brush his ears, curly. His eyes were shining the same as his face, and she could not tell if they had any color. They were slightly almond-shaped over elegant cheekbones. His jaw was discreetly square, as that of a very young man.

"This is who hides below the hood," she finally stated, regaining a measure of self-control. He nodded wordlessly, still smiling at her. "You look so young," she added.

"Although I am not."

"No. And you have no scars, even though I know that you have fought many a great battle."

"I have."

She looked at him. She reconciled the image she had of Tyrael in her mind, the great hooded Archangel with this very young, blond man, smiling at her. Of course, there was still the angelic armour and wings to prove it was him, but she needed a moment to blend in both images.

"Is my image pleasing to you?", he asked then, sounding much more like the young man she was laying eyes on than the Tyrael she knew.

"It is," she said, smiling, amused at his self-doubt. As if any mortal could resist the sight of an Archangel's face.

He felt her amusement, and laughed. It was the second time she had heard him laugh, and it warmed her heart. "I see," he said.

"Forgive me," she answered, still smiling at him, stifling her laughter.

He looked at her for a moment, her smile and shining eyes. It was strange to him to suddenly find himself in a role where he did not know what to say or to do, and was not even sure of what he wanted. He wanted to kiss her, although he was not sure how he was supposed to ask her, and what else he wished to happen.

Suddenly, she ended the necessity for him to ponder the question, because she extended a hand, moving on her knees a little closer to him, and touched his cheekbone with the tip of her fingers.

He closed his eyes, his face relaxing, as her fingers came closer. She almost could not believe her own audacity, but his stillness and his closed eyes told her of his acceptance. Her heart was pounding. Her fingertips touched lightly his cheek. It was much like his hand, hot to the touch as though his body was in a fever. He took a breath, eyes still closed, turning slightly his head so her fingers touched his cheek more fully. Slowly, she slid her hand on his cheek, and she observed as his gloved hand came up to press her hand to his cheek.

Her heart was racing, and she was breathless. He sensed her incredulity at what was happening, but her excitement of it being real. He kept his eyes closed, all his senses starting to tell him of a dozen details he had never noticed before. How her body was suddenly producing more heat, how her heart was pounding, that her hair smelled of vanilla, that her face was flushed, that her hand was slightly trembling.

He dared not move. Her hand lifted slightly from his cheek, and wandered to his forehead. Slowly, she ran her hand through his hair.

He felt, then, that she would not be bolder than that, and he clearly perceived that she was sure that it was over right there, that she would go back to the Zann Esu with the secret knowledge and dear memory that she had ran her hand through his hair.

His desire exploded in all of his senses, out of his control, and Atsanit removed her hand as though she had been burned, gasping suddenly. He opened his eyes slowly.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, looking at him. He knew she had not understood, that she was sure he felt like she was tempting him as he was about to go away.

"Do not be," he said, his voice low, slightly hoarse, very different than the voice he had used all the other times she had heard him speak. "I am free for a while yet," he finally said, before interrupting himself, embarrassed, and confused at being so.

He saw understanding suddenly dawning in her features. "Oh," she said.

"That is what I want, I cannot hide it, I see," he said. "But you are free also."

She made a sad smile then. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I doubt you understand what you are asking."

"What do you mean?", he asked, wanting to touch her hand again so that he might understand, and it was the first time in his long life that he asked anyone what they meant.

She extended her hand, gesturing him to take it, understanding instantly how to communicate best with him. He took her hand.

He instantly felt her desire, too, and it took him every bit of discipline to contain himself. Then, as he was getting back under control, she shared with him a departure she had lived before. It was a touching testimony to Tyrael, that she trusted him with a part of her life. He understood, because she made him live it with her, the pain of separation, the long days of sadness because of the other's absence.

"I… did not know," Tyrael said, still puzzled, but quickly seeing the sense in it all.

"I know," Atsanit answered calmly. "A good side of love is to look at the future together. We will not do that, obviously."

"I now see how it matters," he answered, and looked at her. It did not change how he was feeling, or how she was feeling. "There is something else I have understood, that you have not shown me," he added then. She looked at him attentively. "Since it changes nothing to what… I… feel… and that we will be separated regardless of what happens… then I would rather cherish one more memory of you. The most precious of all."

She smiled, her eyes full of tears, then she laughed. Then there was a second of silence and stillness. She was holding his hand, and she felt his consuming desire to kiss her, although he was too doubtful to move. Her heart started to pound and race once more, and she lifted her free hand to touch his face. He closed his eyes, and turned slightly his head in her direction, his breathing quickening, and each one of his angelic senses that were sharing with her was screaming of the unbearable waiting he suffered without moving. His whole body tensed when he felt her breathing on his face. She slowly, slowly lifted her face, and then their lips met.

Her lips were soft and cool. For a second, Tyrael held still, holding his breath. And then, his discipline snapped, and he kissed her back passionately, throwing his arms around her, his wings lifting them both above the ground in his exuberance. Her hand was at the back of his neck, pulling him to her, and her arms were over his shoulders.

She pulled away, and started laughing. He did not have to ask; he knew she was laughing because she was floating above the ground in his arms. Tyrael slowly put them back on the ground on their feet. He let his wings rest on her body, however. He was a head taller than she was, and she looked up at him, both arms around his neck.

Tyrael looked down at her. She was smiling.

"I love you, Atsanit," he said. He felt it echo in his heart.

"I love you too, Tyrael," she answered. He felt it warm his heart. He closed his arms more tightly around her. "Please," she complained, "don't crush me against your armour."

Tyrael let go of her, a sheepish look on his face, and his wings came back towards his chest as he started to unbuckle his breastplate, hands and wings working altogether. He surprised a shot of desire from Atsanit as he did so, the Sorceress wondering how he could coordinate his movements so, and what _else _he could do with his wings at the same time as his hands. A moment later, she caught his hand in mid-air, and removed his remaining glove, as his wings finished to unbuckle his breastplate, more slowly. He teased her, caressing her face with the tip of a filament of his wings as the others removed his armour.

She gasped as his body became visible below the armour; he wore only a stretch shirt underneath, black and the same fabric as his gloves, not leaving a bit of his muscles to the imagination. She eyed him up and down. His wings dropped the armour in a pile on the ground. She started to unbuckle his gauntlets, while his wings rid him of the lower part of his armour, and dropped it with the rest.

Now rid of his cumbersome armour, he gathered her in his arms, and held her against his chest. But he did not resist really long the urge to bury his hands in her hair, and to kiss her again, his wings caressing her back and legs.

And so, an interesting while later, they were both stretched together on her cape in the middle of the jungle, but they were not really paying attention to the sounds of the night, as they had more urgent things on their minds.

Atsanit could feel with every part of her body touching Tyrael or his wings the gradual liberation of pleasure in his body, and it fed her own pleasure and desire. He was lost to his senses. Each move was a pleasure beyond words. He was taken in, completely taken by what she was giving him, and after a while they started to float into the air, his wings holding them both together. Atsanit laughed again, breathlessly, thinking in an unseemly fashion that this must have been what the creator of the word "lifted" had in mind. But it was her very last coherent thought, because the urgency of her own need was lifting her in more than the physical sense.

She clawed her hands into the small of his back, throwing her head back, a long, satisfied moan escaping her throat, her hands commanding and demanding, her body a gift she was offering. His jaw clinched, his body tensed, and in one thrust he gave himself to her. His head bent over her chest, as his wings were setting them on the ground slowly, and he thought: "This is heaven."

His trembling body rested on hers a long time, their breathing slowing and their heart calming. Archangels never slept, but this once Tyrael's mind came to rest in a state much like slumber. Atsanit's arms were around him, and she was gently caressing his back under the filaments of his wings that were spread on them, unmoving, like a tall and brilliant sheet covering them. He held no control of his light at the moment, and she had to keep her eyes closed. She was satisfied and sated, and she felt every bit of Tyrael's fulfilment and laziness with his angelic senses telling it to her. Eventually, he dropped his luminosity to a tolerable level, and rolled slowly away from her to his back, his wings squished under his weight, dazzled.

She timidly rolled into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He sighed contentedly, and drew her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She crossed her leg with his, and his wing moved up to cover them both like a sheet again.

He felt a bit of mischief in her mind then.

"What?", he asked, smiling in advance.

"Well, I was wondering… if this was the first time you fell in love, then it must be the first time you made love."

"It is," Tyrael answered.

"Then… you are quite imaginative, or you have learnt things in ways that I cannot figure."

Tyrael laughed. "I have been assigned to watch over mortals in the past. I have witnessed many things."

"I see," she said, mischief not gone from her mind. "But I guess, then, that these mortals had no wings. I still have to say that you are imaginative."

Tyrael grinned, and hugged her with his wing. Then: "You are tired again," he said, sensing her laziness.

"Well… no. It is… the calm in the release. The sleepiness will fade," she explained.

"I will watch over you if you sleep," Tyrael said. He felt that she was touched with his concern. Her hand on his chest went to hug his waist, and she moved her head slightly in the hollow of his shoulder, making herself more comfortable. She very soon fell asleep, and Tyrael laid his head down on her cape, looking up at the stars, fading in the sky that was clearing.

The Archangel knew that Heavens would consider the moment of freedom over very soon, but he did not wish to wake Atsanit. Not yet. She slept so peacefully in his arms. He looked down, still amazed at what had happened, and felt like a different person now. And no angel but him in Heaven had ever loved. It seemed strange, that something so obviously gifted by Paradise was unknown to angels. He was grateful to have been allowed it, and felt the jabbing of pain Atsanit had warned him about at the thought of soon leaving her. But it had been worth it, no matter his punishment if one ever came, and the pain he might be experiencing because he had to leave her.

He let her sleep an hour, looking at her and imprinting the image of her face and body in his memory, after which he had to stir her from her dreams. He thought of letting her sleep, but it seemed cruel to leave forever without saying goodbye.

He was still touching her, so he just stretched his angelic senses, and slid in her dreams to tell her she needed to wake up. She woke, and looked up at him. Already sadness was to her mind. He gently kissed her, then he freed himself from her arms, and pulled his wing from under her gently. He looked at her a moment, adoration and sadness in his eyes, then visibly turned his regard elsewhere, looking for his discarded clothing. She hugged her body with her arms, cold now that the heat of his body and the protection of his wing were gone. She turned her own way, and dressed.

She did not put on her armour, just her clothes, and watched as Tyrael's wings were putting his armour back on, all parts at the same time, buckling leather straps with speed and perfect tension.

Tyrael suddenly paused. "Heaven is calling," he said.

She nodded silently. She stood up, unsure of what to do. Tyrael floated to her, and pulled her into his arms; he felt sorry to have his armour on.

"Do not cry," he said, sensing her sadness with his naked hand at the back of her neck. "We have lived a moment of beauty."

"I know," she answered, and he felt a bit of anger at his almost constant preaching. "Tell me you're feeling fine yourself."

Tyrael smiled, and made her look at his smile. "You know me well enough now to know that I am not. But it was a moment of beauty nevertheless."

"I know," she agreed, although still annoyed.

They remained in each other's embrace for a few minutes more. Then, Atsanit pulled away. "I know you have to go," she said.

Tyrael put one knee to the ground in front of her, took her hand and kissed it. "I will remember you, my love."

Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not cry. She took a long breath. "And I you, my love, Tyrael."

He squeezed her hand, then turned away, starting to float up, putting his gloves back on. He turned to look at her as he was flying upwards, one last look at her divine face, looking at him going with sadness, but no tears, before he put his hood back on and flew upwards with all his speed. His heart would stay far lower, in the mortals' realms. All the other Archangels would feel that his heart was sinking when he would arrive at the council. But they would also all feel that he had loved, and maybe they would learn what it meant, and why he loved mortals. And of their courage to love, and their courage in letting go of the loved one out of their love for him.

Tyrael cried below his hood as he flew up to Heaven.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Hey guys! I'm asking for your opinion again. Originally, the storyline ended here. But after successfully ridding myself of another character which insistently bothered me to write him up (mainly by writing him the hell up) I re-read this chapter (as you've surely understood from the first disclaimer up there…) and came up with an idea for a sequel. What I want to add could easily enough be made to fit after the current end (there's only one detail of the current story I'll have to go against). So if any of you is still here and hasn't run away because of my lousy love scene, feel free to complain about how too short this story is with its 20 thousand or some words…. And I'll write some more! Believe it or not, even after almost throwing my computer out the window not to have to look this chapter again, the obsession has seized me again. Now I can't stop thinking about Tyrael and what he deserves to be written. So… what do you think?_


	11. Life goes on

_Thank you all (here, I name you: BloodHeron for your quickness to reassure me, Tegaladwen for your encouragement to continue, Aditu for your faithful reviews all through the chapters (and over on Star Trek too), Salem's Darkness for your enthusiasm (inimitable, might I add) and Neferit for a late review that was such a sweet surprise) ever so much for your reviews. You really make it worthwhile to write and post here. I am really grateful for all your encouragement after last chapter (truly, I almost abandoned the story there and never post the 10th chapter)._

_BloodHeron, you will be glad to know that your comment about how you really wanted to know what happens with the Zann Esu is what pushed me to re-do this chapter (for the third time… aw, writing is tough). I had written a first draft of this story like three months ago, found it way too long, and cut in many places, among which this chapter. But as you were so insistent, I dug it out of my computer, re-tweaked it and put it as it is now. So…_

_Hope you all enjoy!_

Chapter 11. Life goes on

Atsanit watched him go; he was five meters from the ground when he turned to look at her a last time. She almost cried at that moment. She saw his love and sadness in his eyes, and they seemed to be blue for an instant. Then he turned, put his hood over his curly blond hair, and flew upwards faster. She sat on her cape on the ground and rolled it around her shoulders, feeling cold, still in shock from all that happened. She held on to his words about their moment of beauty, that would remain as such forever in her memory, and dragged herself up to her feet, not shedding a tear. She put her armour back on, took shield and Jared stone in hand, and tasted for a few seconds how much of a part of her such battle gear was. And she started to walk back to the Zann Esu.

She reached the village in no time. The gate was held by Sara, the guardian for many years. Atsanit stared at her, almost disbelieving how familiar this image was. Of course it would be Sara guarding the doors, but Atsanit had changed so much in the last few months that she had expected the rest of the world to change as well. The elder Sorceress looked at the young woman closing on the gates, puzzled. She reminded her of someone, but she could not place her.

"Halt!", she demanded. "Identify yourself."

The young woman stopped, and looked at her straight in the eye. "It is me, Atsanit."

Then Sara recognized the young Sorceress that had left the village a few months ago to go the Rogues' lands, answering the rumours about the Wanderer, Diablo's freedom and the troubles arising in the west. The older Sorceress made a great smile as she walked forward to hug the girl.

"My, look at you! You're too old to have grown up, but you certainly have grown in power! Look at this… all those artefacts of power you carry… Welcome back, Atsanit. We all thought you dead!"

She saw Atsanit suddenly freeze. "You don't know," the young girl stated.

"Know what, exactly?", Sara asked. "We know a lot of things."

"About the Three."

"We know they have been defeated, and their souls banished. The Sorceresses that left after you took a lot of time to clean the demons from Tamoe. That is why we thought you were dead, since there were still demons."

Atsanit looked confused. "They just never caught up with me. I freed the Monastery, the Rogues ought to have told you this much?"

"Yes, they told us that the Monastery had been conquered by the forces of Light, but always mentioned the "Hero", nothing else. We did not know who it was…" At that, Sara gazed at the young Sorceress before her. There was something powerful in her way of standing there in full battle gear, wearing on every part of her body a magical object with an unassuming pride and a calm that stated that she knew how to use them. Her bearing spoke of infinite wisdom beyond her years, of the greatest trials survived, of the worst horrors faced, of intimate knowledge of herself. "It was you," Sara realized slowly.

"Then I end up as the Wanderer, no one remembering my name but my deeds. So be it," Atsanit answered. There was a great weariness to add to the list of what transpired in her bearing. She sighed, and went on: "But I believe I have the right to tell, at least to you, that I have not stopped my journey at the Monastery. I have followed the Wanderer, who was possessed by Diablo, to the East, and reached Lut Gholein. There I searched for Tal Rasha's tomb, who was possessed by Baal, and was too late; they were already gone. So I pushed further, to Kurast, the prison of the last of the Three, Mephisto. He was already free when I came, and his brothers gone. I defeated him, and took his Soulstone. The gate to Hell was opened in the temple, and I crossed it, in search of the brothers and to destroy the Lord of Hatred's Soulstone. I battled through Hell until I reached the Hellforge, and I destroyed the Soulstone. Then I marched into the Chaos Sanctuary, and faced Diablo. I defeated him, and destroyed his Soulstone at the Hellforge. But then Tyrael took me to Harrogath, in the Barbarian lands, because that is where Baal was, looking for a way to reach the Worldstone. The demon arrived there before I did, and corrupted the Worldstone, looking to change it into a means of transport for demons from Hell, before I was able to defeat him. Tyrael had to destroy the Worldstone to spare the world the infernal legions of Baal. And we destroyed the last Soulstone, and he took me here." She took a breath. "And so I am here at last."

Sara stared at her young colleague in silence. "Quite a long tale, actually." It did not cross her mind to doubt the girl's word; there was something in her casual naming of the Three Prime Evils that made it unnervingly clear that she had faced and banished them.

Atsanit grimaced. "That's the awfully short version. I skipped the dramatic parts when I spill my guts all over the floor or the boring parts when I run the other way for miles in front of advancing demons." _And the amazing part that I fell in love._

Sara stepped aside from the gates slowly, with a respectful bow of the head. "Go on in, young Sorceress, and be welcomed back to your homeland. I am sure lady Namizan will be happy to hear of your survival and tales."

Atsanit nodded, and came into the village, walking towards the house of the Zann Esu's leader in the bright morning. Yet the light was not as beautiful and as warming as was Tyrael's.

ooooo

Life went on disturbingly similar as it had been before she had left it. It became clearer and clearer how much she had changed so much in so little time, and how she had naturally expected the whole world to have changed from the freedom of the Three, but nothing had changed so much as her.

She was welcomed as a Hero, given a house in the village and an honorific staff. She confirmed her reputation of warrior in the first few years, sent out the gates with Sara and a few other experienced Sorceresses to cleanse the jungle of the last of the undead and demons that Mephisto had unleashed across the lands. Everyone that fought besides Atsanit was quickly made aware of her grand mastery of Ice magic, and her also impressive mastery of Lightning. She rapidly rose into the ranks of the Zann Esu because of her fighting skills; there were those that said that she was more powerful than Sara in her years and than Namizan, the Zann Esu's leader, in this moment. Atsanit had honed her fighting skills against countless demons over a very short period, and no one had expected her to come back a mere year after completing her basic training and be this powerful; and no one was ready to make her the leader over an experienced politician like Namizan.

There was no arrogance in Atsanit, no unnecessary show of power, no display of ambition for Namizan's role, and she quickly ended up the guardian to the doors, sharing the duty with an aging Sara, that could not do the long hours of standing wearing armour anymore. She was also given a teaching charge, to teach to the youngest recruits the intricacies of Ice magic.

The world grew a quiet place. Atsanit knew that maybe, in the distant future, demons would rise again to try and conquer the land, but it would be long, numerous years before they recovered from the death and banishment of the Three Prime Evils, and the loss of the two remaining Lesser Evils. She held secret pride in having earned the name "Slayer", but she never spoke of her adventures beyond where she had gone and the names of the demons she had vanquished when asked, and when an occasional question about Tyrael arose, she merely said that the Archangel had been guarding Tal Rasha's tomb, and that he had offered guidance in her quest, fulfilling his duty in this way, bound by Heaven's rule of non-intervention.

Eventually, Sara passed on, and Atsanit was left the sole guardian of the doors. In time she also became the Ice mistress of the Zann Esu, so clearly overpowering the current one that the post had been given her without contest or protest. She also became one of aged Namizan's close counsellors, a very respected, if discreet, one. She was a respected and eminent member of the Zann Esu, and she was proud to have earned the respect of her colleagues.

ooooo

The community gathered this day to meet the newest recruit, a girl from Kurast, known by the name of Makiri. Atsanit gasped as she came to the central square of the village, where the girl was. As she was now one of the authority figures of the Zann Esu, everyone noticed her sudden gasp. She was not looking at the girl, but further away over her shoulder. She eventually looked down at the girl, forced a smile, and walked forward to welcome her to the Zann Esu.

The angel watching over the girl looked at her with a curious look on his face. No mortal was supposed to see him, and he wondered how this one could see him, and why she had chosen not to reveal his presence. His charge and her colleagues were to remain oblivious to his presence, and they would have noticed his presence without a doubt if he had spoken to ask the Sorceress not to reveal his presence.

Three days passed before he was given an answer. He watched over the young girl as she was meeting her new inmates, learning her first cantrips, discreetly whispering advice to her unknowing ears a few times, quietly forbidding when she was about to do something that could lead her the evil path, comforting her when she missed her family.

Then, as Makiri was finishing one of her classes and going to play with her new friends, she met Atsanit, the Ice mistress, in a desert alleyway in the village.

"I would have words with you," Atsanit said, looking straight into the angel's face. He was bound to silence. Then Atsanit turned her eyes to the girl, terrified by the tone of absolute commandment in Atsanit's voice. "Quickly, now girl.", she answered, and the angel felt she was simulating annoyance. It worked; Makiri followed her without questioning why she had spoken to her while looking over her shoulder.

Makiri followed the Mistress of Ice and Guardian to her house. She entered when she was invited in, and bowed very correctly to her elder. "It is only a short matter, Makiri," the Mistress said, gently enough. "I just wished to say that you are proving quite promising in your class of Ice magic, but I would expect a little more thorough attention at your homework." She made a stern face to the girl, whose eyes dropped.

"Yes, lady Atsanit," the girl answered, obedient, still obviously terrified at her teacher's annoyance.

"Very well, child," the Mistress said, softening. "You can go back to your plays, but lady Namizan wishes to see you also before you return to your friends."

"Yes, lady Atsanit," the girl nodded, made a curtsy and left. The angel watched at her go; he knew she would be safe in Namizan's care, the time he spoke with Atsanit.

"Who are you?", the Ice mistress asked as she was staring straight at him.

"I am David, guardian angel, of Michael's army."

"Oh," the Zann Esu answered. David saw and felt her relax. "Well… a pleasure to meet you."

"How can you see me, mortal?", the angel asked.

"I am Slayer Atsanit. Surely you have heard that name before." The title was pronounced without boasting, and David shivered. "I have lived in Pandemonium for a time, and met the Archangel Tyrael. I am not sure which fact permits me to see you now."

"Either one would have sufficed," the angel answered.

She nodded. "I will understand if you do not wish to reveal this to me, but why are you looking over Makiri?"

"She is promised a grand destiny. She will discover an artefact of great evil power, and the Heavens felt she needed Light's guidance early in her life, that she may resist the temptation when she is faced with it."

Atsanit grimaced. "May _her_ destiny come to her when she is old." She added in an afterthought: "And in full possession of all her powers. I would retrieve this artefact to spare her if you wish."

"It is her own destiny, Slayer," David answered.

"Of course, it always is," Atsanit sighed. "Then I will also watch over her, and do my best to hone her skills before she is faced with whatever guards it. Because there is always something guarding it."

"You have fought too many battles, Slayer Atsanit. Sometimes the battle is to be fought inside, not with exterior demons."

A slow, predator smile crossed Atsanit's face, and suddenly he had a vivid vision of what she must have looked like in her time. "And you, guardian angel, have not fought enough battles, or found yourself in enough crypts, tombs, dungeons, sewers or caves. The vanquishing of the Three did not erase monsters, demons and undead from this world, and evil is drawn to power, always, as is its nature." She paused, looking at David that stared back at her, answering nothing. He knew the truth of her words, and she was projecting any emotion she had three times stronger than any other mortal he had known. She was projecting nearly as firmly as he was, and it was unsettling. No wonder she had broken Tyrael's heart, the fool. She growled. "If you think once more in what you think is the secret of your thoughts that Tyrael is a fool, you will answer to my wrath. An Archangel, any Archangel, deserves your respect, guarding angel David."

David blinked. "I… am sorry. I ask your forgiveness, I did not wish to insult the Warrior."

She shrugged. "Very well, David. You shall have my collaboration in keeping your presence as secret as it can be, and in raising the call in Makiri for the fight for the Light."

David bowed; the mortal had earned the respect of all Heaven. She bowed her head to him too, and finally she said: "And I would thank you not to insinuate again that I do not know what fighting with Evil inside of one's heart means." She paused, letting him the time to understand what she had said. "I have carried Mephisto's Soulstone for three weeks before it could be destroyed, and I have wielded the Infernal Hammer three times."

David swallowed, then bowed his head once more. "I salute you, Slayer Atsanit." He left.

ooooo

Atsanit looked at him go. She sighed when he left. He had reminded her of Tyrael, and she was always a little sad when she thought of Tyrael. She was also filled with sweet memories, but memories were memories. This angel wore no hood, being of a lower rank, and his face was plain to see. He was blond also, but of a darker hue, and his hair was not curly, simply falling straight on his shoulders. His features were older, more square than those of Tyrael, and she had felt his wisdom was not as great as that of Tyrael.

She closed her eyes and remembered Tyrael's features behind her closed eyelids. The Archangel with a broken heart, according to David. She wondered if David was just repeating Michael's vision of the affair, of if he knew Tyrael personally to judge that his heart was broken. She smiled, stretching her thoughts towards Pandemonium, wondering if he was still there, in his silent watch near the hearth, surveying the growth of the world of the mortals. Surely he was still watching over all the mortals, like an Arch-guarding-angel, no matter where he stood in his silent vigil. She smiled, remembering his tenderness and his love, for a time, then she turned her thoughts back to her present work.

ooooo

Over the years, she sometimes thought back of Tyrael. She sometimes looked back at her cape upon which she had slept in his arms, or remembered his smile in a flash behind her closed eyelids. She wondered what had happened to him, what was his duty now that he no longer guarded Tal Rasha's tomb, and that the Sin War was over.

Of course, Tyrael could feel her thoughts turning to him. Each time she thought of him, he was halted in his duty – surveillance of a demon trying to gate out of Hell, analyzing intelligence about the political reorganization and fight in Hell, or whatever – his heart touched by her thoughts. Each time, he smiled with sadness under the shadow of his hood; he could not respond to her thoughts, bound once more by the rule of non-intervention, but as always his heart was warmed, and he drew strength for himself, from her ability to love him across the distances, and to feel comfort and happiness at his memory, despite time and distance, and everything setting them apart.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Just a side note to all of you after the review by Aditu: No, you didn't really think it was over here, did you? I take great pride in finally labelling my stories "complete", and have not done so yet, so… still a few chapters left to go. You didn't think they would live lonely ever after, did ya?_


	12. Death comes

_As always, my first words are to thank you for all of your support. I am really, really grateful for all of your reviews (btw, BloodHeron, I didn't find you pushy. Your enthusiasm just convinced me that maybe people wouldn't mind if the story was this long, and that I could keep Sara's and David's presences in the chapter without scaring too many people away with the word count). As for Aditu, 2sidez-Samecoin, Tegaladwen, thank you very much for your faithful reviews. I hope you know I much I am expecting what each of you has to say each time I post a new chapter. Thank you also to Ami Mettallium, another late review that has been a very sweet surprise._

_This (very long) story is coming to an end quite soon, like 2 more chapters to go after this one. I hope you enjoy the conclusion I am giving it despite the fact that some of my readers appeared to think that "Life goes on" would have made a fit ending._

Chapter 12. Death comes

Atsanit aged quickly; she knew not if it was to have been so close to death so many times, or her time in Heaven or in Hell, or the Hellhammer's magic, or the vanquishing of the Three. She was looking much older than she was, and her forces were waning rapidly. At forty-four, she could no longer guard the doors, not even if sharing the duty with Makiri as she was now. She did not possess the strength to wear her ancient armour, Victors silk, anymore. She turned to teaching all the time; in her old age she developed a fond affection for the youngest of the girls, that loved her as they would a grand-mother.

A few years later again, one day of the rainy season of the jungle where lived the Zann Esu, in this village where she had grown up and came back after her adventures were over, she found she could not stand out of her bed. She had felt her end coming closer for many days now. Old, old wounds had started to put her in pain again after thirty years of peace. Often her thoughts turned to the past, and she recognized in herself the tendency of old people to do so.

This morning, she called Makiri to her bed; they had grown a great friendship in their shared duty at the doors. The young Zann Esu cried as her elder told her that her end was upon her. The old woman's calm was to be admired, her serenity faced with death. She put her wrinkled hand on Makiri's bent head.

"Do not fear," she said. It was one of her favourite phrases; she had instructed it to everyone at least once. "I have faced many great dangers, and I have had much time to make peace with death."

Makiri forced her tears to stop. She was a courageous young woman, and she dried her face. She looked up to her elder.

"I know, mistress Atsanit. But I grieve that you will leave us, and I will miss you."

A kind smile curled up the wrinkled face; her wrinkles told of how she smiled. "Thank you, Makiri. Your affection has been a comfort for this old heart in the last years."

"Everyone likes you, mistress Atsanit," Makiri said, a smile on her face.

"Well, not David, but I don't mind him too much."

"Who?", Makiri asked, puzzled.

"Nevermind," Atsanit brushed the matter aside. "Would you be kind, dear, and bring me a little of water?"

Makiri stood, and went to the house's kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. The old woman took the glass, and Makiri helped her to drink.

"Would you help me, and bring me my old cape?", Atsanit asked again. "The one pinned to the wall. I would… touch it again, to remember…" She trailed off.

Makiri went to undo the pins that were holding the magnificent, emerald-green cape from the wall. It had seen many battles, as the few sewn parts told, and it had been worn a lot, because the velvet was worn out at the shoulders, but Atsanit had always displayed it in her room with pride. Makiri took it with care, and spread it over the frail body of Atsanit, thinking she was cold.

To her surprise, the elder Sorceress pulled the side of it to her face, and buried her face into it. Makiri heard the deep breaths of her elder, as though she was about to cry. She put a hand on her friend's shoulder; she did not understand her sudden unshed tears, because she had been peaceful and strong up to this point. Makiri did not say a word. She knew next to nothing of the adventuring years of Atsanit, despite the fact that it was known to the whole Sanctuary that she had vanquished the Three Prime Evils in a one-on-one combat. Makiri could not imagine what the world must have looked like while the Three roamed the land freely, and Atsanit had faced it and survived it, but she had never explained her adventures. Makiri sensed this particular display had to do with her untold adventures, but she would not pry. She just stayed there in comfort of her friend.

Atsanit thought back to Tyrael. She thought back of her life; she had been trained a Zann Esu, had embarked on a quest she had no idea would get her so far, she had vanquished the Three Prime Evils. She had loved an Archangel, showing to one of Heaven's creatures what love was. She had been the guardian of the doors, protecting the Zann Esu against countless threats and dangers along the years. She had been the Ice mistress, and an important counsellor, and had been loved by the young girls to whom she taught. Her life was something she was proud of, and she remembered in a flash the revelation in Tal Rasha's tomb. If it was a presence anything like Tyrael's that awaited her beyond, there was nothing to be feared in death.

"It is not true that I dislike you, Slayer Atsanit," David said to the elder Sorceress, unseen and unheard by Makiri. "I have disagreed with you in the past, but I respect and admire your accomplishments." He put a hand on the other shoulder of Atsanit, and the angel's touch calmed her.

"Thank you," she just answered, knowing both would understand. Her vision was getting darker. She saw Makiri's eyes fill with tears again. Other Sorceresses were standing in the doorway, but no one entered, seeing the intimate moment between the mistress and pupil.

And, suddenly, the situation took a turn to the unexpected. The women by the door suddenly scattered with sounds of awe, and light filled the doorway. Makiri turned confused eyes to the door, but blinked in front of the brilliance.

"My hour has finally come," Atsanit said then, her voice very calm. "I did not… expect you to come."

Makiri turned back to Atsanit when she heard her strange sentence and, with a shock, she saw a brilliant silhouette on the other side of the bed. She understood instantly that it must be an angel from the wings of light that were deployed behind him. She gasped, looking at the beautiful man holding Atsanit's shoulder. The angel looked briefly at her, then let go of Atsanit's shoulder and got down on one knee, bowing his head with deep respect towards the light in the doorway.

"Milord," the angel said.

Makiri looked at the being that the angel was addressing. Another angel, she saw with a shock, although this one was very different. His presence was much stronger; he was taller, his wings were more brilliant and taller, moving around him with majesty. He was also hooded, which took nothing of his grandeur, and wore a complete, brilliant armour.

"At ease, David," the other angel said.

The angel that had been present at first stood up and took a respectful step back, before he left the room. The other, more grandiose angel floated forward slowly, a filament of his wings coming to touch the Ice mistress's cheek. She smiled.

"Tyrael," she murmured, her voice very low.

Makiri felt really foolish all of a sudden, not to have understood that she faced an Archangel.

"Yes, my love," was the Archangel's answer. Makiri stood there, amazed, as Tyrael floated across the room, and sat lightly on the other side of Atsanit's bed, taking one of her hands with both of his.

"It will be… reassuring to be taken away by you," Atsanit said. "I would… see your face once again, if you would allow me."

Then Makiri felt rooted in her spot as the Archangel's head turned to her. He was looking at her, and she felt pierced through by his gaze, that she could not even see.

"Leave us, please, young Sorceress," he ordered her.

She stood up before she found her voice. Then she said to Atsanit: "Good bye, mistress Atsanit."

"Good bye, Makiri."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_So… every story has to have an end. I don't usually get so far into my character's lives, but this one was just too good to miss – loving an Archangel, you've got to expect to cross him again in the afterlife…(and impossible love would be way too tragic an ending for my tastes (-; ) So, you'll see what happens after this next week! (time to get another part of the story "decanted" and proofread)_


	13. Knighted

_Hello again! Thank you for the reviews! You get me going guys!_

_Aditu: lol, glad I surprised you nicely ;-)_

_BloodHeron: well, I preferred to lose the people too young/virtuous/lazy that don't check M rating than risk being accused of abuse and banned and stay humiliated for the rest of my life…! I re-read the rating definitions though, and I'm still not sure…_

_Tegaladwen: all your answers answered here ;-)_

_Lightof9shadows: well… nothing to add to THAT!_

_Oracle Thunder: glad you liked it :-) Eheh you're my third "Friday surprise" (late, unexpected, pleasing review) and thank you._

_This chapter is a day early because of my boyfriend's arrival due tonight (will most probably keep me busy throughout the weekend… :-p), and because I had a "let's do nothing this afternoon, you did a good exam this morning" kind of day._

Chapter 13. Knighted

The Zann Esu stood in the courtyard of Atsanit's house, waiting for something to happen to tell them that they could go in again, to pay their last respects to their Ice mistress, dearly loved member of their sisterhood. They were all agitated because of an Archangel's descent in their village, obviously to see Atsanit's passing, and because they could all see the other lesser angel now. And suddenly, they scattered in awe once more, agitation rising another level in the village.

Another Archangel was descending upon them. Again, David knelt to the higher-ranked angel.

"My lord," he saluted.

"At ease, David," the other answered, and floated forwards.

He was different than Tyrael, the first one to descend upon them; he shone golden instead of silver, and his wings were different, shorter but thicker, but the nobility and the majesty of his presence were the same.

David stood, but kept his place in front of the door. The Archangel stopped. "Why do you not step aside, David?", he asked, his voice only curious.

The lesser angel was trembling in fear, knowing he was opposing his commander and risking his wrath. He seized his courage, and explained himself: "She… is my friend. He is not intervening, and I do not see why they should not be allowed this, the instant of her death."

David could easily sense the smile that went through his commander's aura. "I am not here to forbid it. I am here to intervene."

David, completely puzzled, stepped aside. The Archangel suddenly glared with a light so great that every Sorceress turned her eyes elsewhere. When they opened their eyes again, the door of Atsanit's house was closed once more.

ooooo

When Michael came into Atsanit's room, Tyrael and Atsanit were striking a peaceful and tender icon. He held her hand in his gloved ones – Michael felt Tyrael's worry that the touch of his skin would kill her, in her weakness – and he had lowered his hood, so that she could see his face once more, as she had requested.

Michael took a moment, upon the realization that this was her only request to Tyrael at the moment of her death, to acknowledge her wisdom. Many mortals, had they been given a link to the divine as she had experienced, would have tried with cowardice to use it to their advantage, to try to tear a few more years of mortal life or another intervention. But Atsanit was beyond this pettiness; her only humble request was to see his face again. The Council's late decision would not prove to be a mistake. Michael was even more sure of it, now that he had witnessed this. And witness he did.

Tyrael was sitting on the side of her bed, her hand in his, slightly leaning towards her. His wings were almost still, barely waving, surrounding her bed and lighting it gently. She looked very old; Michael was sure her time in Hell and in Pandemonium had accelerated her aging, because she should not have looked so old; she was barely fifty years-old. Her hair was completely white, her face had many deep wrinkles that showed how she smiled and squinted her eyes, and her frame was very slim. Her frail shoulders and hands were hardly recognizable as those that had wielded weapons in the battle against the Three. She was looking up at Tyrael, her breathing laborious, and he was looking down tenderly at her, his face sad and loving. He was projecting in all his angelic senses so pathetically strongly that she was as beautiful in his heart and eyes as she had been all those years ago. Michael sighed; despite everything, this was definitively beyond his comprehension.

When he closed the door, Tyrael's attention snapped in his direction, and Michael felt that the other Archangel was shielding Atsanit from his anger; she was so weak that any burst of emotion on his part could kill her.

_What are you doing here, Michael?_, Tyrael snapped in the innerspeech. _For once that I step on all that I feel, obey the Heavens and do not intervene, I would expect to be left in peace during her last moments. I will not allow my only presence to be forbidden to her now, of all times._

There was genuine anger and rebellion at this unfair, unnecessary appearance of Michael to keep him away from her. For once, Michael could understand Tyrael's rebellion. He made his good will plain in his aura, which Tyrael could not fail to see, and floated forward. Atsanit was a powerful mortal, even on the doors of death, and she felt Tyrael's change of emotion, and a new angelic presence in the room. She turned her head to him, but she surely could not see him, with her waning sight.

"Who are you?", she whispered, speaking seeming like a terrible effort.

"Do not speak, my love," Tyrael said, his voice tender, although Michael still felt his puzzlement at his presence; if it was not to pull him away, then why was he here?

"I am the Archangel Michael, Slayer Atsanit, come to knight you an Archangel."

Michael smiled under his hood as he saw, heard and felt the utter surprise of Tyrael. It was peculiar to see his face and read his expression in yet another way. Atsanit turned her head to look at Tyrael. She did not understand either what was happening to her, or what Tyrael felt or knew.

Tyrael let go of her hand when Michael's wing pushed him gently aside. He floated back a little distance, observing Michael gently lifting Atsanit from her bed and holding her with his wings as though she was standing on her feet.

"It has been decreed by the angelic council that you would be knighted an Archangel for your vanquishing of the Three and their banishment, and your life-long battle for the Light. They have judged that your mind could easily encompass all of the new senses to be gifted to you, without any risk to your sanity. You have earned a place amongst the legions of Heaven, if you will accept it."

He infused her of enough of his angelic energy for her to be able to answer. "I will accept this honour," she said.

Tyrael behind him was sending out a series of conflicting emotions. Tyrael was not often so conflicting in his projections. Michael had felt such confusion only twice before, in all the millennia they had served together: when he had come back from his last encounter with Atsanit, and when he had felt her dying being closer. The first time, he had been confused between his happiness to be in love, his pain to leave her behind, a doubt on the rightness of his duty to Heavens, and his need to have all angels in Heaven understand love and take example from the mortals' courage, love and sacrifice, all in their weakness. The last time, he had been torn between his pain at her death, which would take her soul to Paradise where she would be beyond his reach forever, the sense of his selfishness in his inability to accept to lose her for the sake of her eternal joy, and his need to see her again. And now, he was completely incapable of understanding what had changed in the angelic council that had decided them to knight her after all this time. Nothing in history had caused so much torment in an Archangel before; only this frail woman about to die too young, bearing the bodily weakness of the great age. Michael sighed again.

He took off the glove of his right hand, and started to chant power words of magnitude, his hand tracing elaborate signs into the air. The runes started to shine with a fierce golden glow in the air in front of him, and he threw those forwards with a move of the hand. The runes buried themselves in Atsanit's chest, going to her heart one after the other, and she writhed in pain in his wings' grasp. She soon was engulfed in a ball of opaque, golden light, as the last rune went through her chest.

Then the light shattered, and fell to the floor in ribbons of gold. Tyrael behind him grew even more confused, knowing what he had done, but not understanding in the least what had taken possession of him. Michael smiled under his hood. It was, and had always been, good sport to outwit Tyrael. He set Atsanit back on her feet.

She had a quick mind. She looked down at her hands, having guessed there were the runes "time" and "return" in his incantation, and then reached over her shoulder to take a stray of her hair between her fingers.

"You have given me back the strength of my youth," she said, observing her back-to-raven hair.

"I have," Michael stated. Then he started another string of runes and complicated incantations, the walls of the house humming with the power he was summoning, his wings expanding until they almost touched each wall, and a fierce golden glow escaping each part of him. Atsanit closed her eyes. Michael's wings put her old armour on, fishing it out of a chest in a corner of the room with the rest of her old battle gear, blessing each part of the armour with a special rune, and put gloves on her hands, and a hood in the cape over her armour, which he did not put over her head. His voice was steadily growing stronger, and she was feeling a lot of his energy infusing in her. Then it seemed that the golden glow itself seeped into her deep to her very bones, and she fell to her knees, golden fire coursing through her as she was changed and her mind and senses expanded.

She opened her eyes again. Michael's wings had shrunk back to their usual size, and he was shaking slightly, his wings shivering in the air. She pulled herself up in a more dignified position, staying on her knees facing the Archangel who had knighted her, with obvious cost to himself. He pulled his sword out of its sheath, the holy blade burning with white fire, and laid it on each of her shoulders. She looked up at him, her dark eyes confident and wise. He saw in her already powerful aura and projections that she knew what he was going to do next, and she was readying herself to. Not many newly-knighted angels or Archangels had this wisdom.

He backhanded her harshly across the face. He head swirled the other way, as her last link to the mortal plane was snapped by the hand of an Archangel. She was now no more mortal, had lost her mortal name, and would never be mortal again. She was a power of Heavens for the rest of eternity, bound to its rules and decisions, and gifted wisdom and power. She turned her head back to Michael, feeling a little shaken, but her will dragged her to her feet, her pride and challenging personality unchanged in all the years since her quest against the Three. Then she expanded her wings, a glory of yellow, thin threads that escaped her back, and waved in a shape of disk behind her, and began to float off the ground.

Not many newly-knighted Archangels recovered from being taken away from the mortal realm so quickly either. She was indeed very worthy. Michael knelt in front of her, and so did Tyrael, as he presented her with her holy blade, a small crystal sword of dimensions she could wield efficiently, burning with white fire, green runes carved along the blade:

"The Three vanquished,

Their power forever vanished.

The meaning of love caught,

Many lessons taught."

She read the inscription twice. She was quickly mastering her overwhelming new senses, and felt it was Michael's craft. She also knew, coming from Tyrael, how an honour it was. She wished to try the inner speech, but felt a little weak to do so yet.

"I am honoured, Michael… how shall I call you now? Lord?"

"You can, if you expressively wish it. Although a simple Michael will be tribute enough."

"Very well, Michael," she answered. "I thank you." She paused a while longer. "I should have a new name. Am I the one to choose… to _learn_ it?"

The three Archangels looked at each other.

"I feel what it is, although you cannot see it," Tyrael said. She turned to him, full of hope and expectation, and he said: "Atsaelle." She made a pause, surprised at how close it was to her mortal name. "You are close to your mortal self," Tyrael said, answering to her thoughts.

Michael nodded, and then turned to Tyrael, whose urgency of curiosity was causing him some pleasure.

"Why have you intervened?", Tyrael asked. He made it clear to Atsanit… the Archangel Atsaelle… that it was Council's orders to knight her, but her rejuvenation was Michael's own doing.

"Because you have succeeded in your wish, Tyrael," Michael answered. Still, the powerful, bright, old Tyrael did not understand what he had accomplished. "You have… showed us your love for this mortal. You have stood up to your judgement by Paradise for loving her with trust, without repent, and clear in all your senses that you believed you did nothing wrong. Paradise could not smite you for disobedience, because you were beyond punishment with your belief that you were in your right. You have been preaching so well the cause of mortals that you have won us all to your love of them, and you were humble enough not to notice. You and this mortal have taught me love, admiration for the accomplishments of the weaker, their courage to do what must be done despite the lack of power, and I felt that teaching something of this importance to an old Archangel that had been blind to it for so long warranted a reward." He gave a knowing smile to Tyrael and Atsaelle, and said: "For both of you, need I to specify?"

Atsaelle blushed, showing she was still human in a way, and Tyrael stayed really surprised at Michael's unexpected change of perspective on things.

"Now… I will leave you both to your reunion," Michael said, and glared bright again as he got out of the house, ready to fly up to Heavens, making sure no human present could see the uncovered faces of Tyrael and Atsaelle.

He smiled as he passed by David, who had "heard" it all with angelic senses. "Try to make yourself forgotten, now," he ordered, although David felt the flash of humour, most uncharacteristic flash of humour, in his commander's aura. Any human that had seen an Archangel – and all the more reason two or three – could see a simple angel as him now, and he wondered how he was supposed to guard over his charge now that she could see and hear him. He would no longer be a discreet guidance. He frowned.


	14. Final thoughts

Final thoughts : before the end. Because, when I stamp "The End", I like it to be the end, and that there is nothing after the final words. Bah, author whim (those that say they don't have them are lying. They probably can't get a word written if they don't bite the end of a pen or something ;-p ).

First of all: thank you so much to everyone who read this huge project to the end, and more thanks to those who took the time to review it. It's really sweet to know that people like what you write. Really, guys, you've made me smile emptily into space innumerable times as I thought back about your reviews. And when I was so sick of studying (during intra week here in University Universe…) I would occasionally check to see if I have a new review to give me back some courage. So thank you so much :-)

Second: I tried not to make this end too… you know. Overdone. Cliché. Quétaine. Whatever the word is in your language. So what you'll get is more like an "epilogue" than a "chapter", as I've cut much stupidity out of it (unfortunately, some funny lines had to be cut as well since I had to put a final point somewhere, and before most of the stupidity). So… all feel free to imagine your own happily ever after what I wrote.

Third: a bit of behind the scenes… "Atsanit" means "aurora borealis" in one of the Inuit tongues of people of Northern Québec or Canada (don't know for sure). I do like to have names that mean something.

Fourth: I have a special request in your reviews now. I'd like to know what was your favourite part of the story. Come on, everyone who's read it, tell me: what was the most breathtaking action? Where was the most beautiful style? You can also take the occasion to say what was worse and should therefore edit in all priority. But really, I like to know what people think are the better parts, so I can write more of this and less of the rest in a next story.

Hm… think I babbled enough for now. Again, thank you all so much for your reviews.

Maman! C'est finiiiiii! Hm, I mean, hey, it's over!


	15. Reunited

Chapter 14. Reunited

Tyrael and Atsaelle looked at Michael as he left.

"Amazing how I can bear the sight of the full light of an Archangel now," she said.

Tyrael turned to her, smiling and his eyes sparkling, literally. She could see through the light they were diffusing, now, and she knew his eyes were blue. It was strange, after all these years, to see his uncovered face again, his young features, as she had aged so much and, in a way, still felt old, even if her body had been turned back to what she must have looked like during her adventures after the Wanderer.

Tyrael did not hide his joy that she was there, and the smug pride that it was Michael's doing, that he did not lift a finger in the whole matter, and that the angelic Council might be incensed at the intervention, or maybe not, but he would be beyond any reproach.

"You're gloating, sir preaching Archangel," Atsaelle warned.

"I am! I will have a sin to confess for the next judgement," he exclaimed happily, and he floated to her suddenly, his wings folding up around her and curling with her own wings. She felt his exuberance, and she shivered at the new feeling of their wings touching.

"We must leave the mortals' plane," Tyrael said. "We must not disturb further the Zann Esu… my love."

She felt his uncertainty, his hesitation to call her that, unsure of what she would wish now that it was possible to choose to envision the future together or apart, and their respective responsibilities to Heaven.

She touched his cheek, although she wore the black gloves gifted to her by Michael. He closed his eyes to her touch, a touching expression of tenderness filling his face, as he acknowledged her renewed love for him.

"You are forgetting your hood, my love," she said, waving tentatively her wings to try to catch it. Her wings collided awkwardly with his neck, which made him laugh, but she managed to put his hood on. Then, she used her hands, which she had not forgotten how to use, to put her own hood. "I am shy," she stated, when it was time to go out and face the assembled Zann Esu.

"Be proud," he answered, smiling through all his senses.

She laughed. He opened the door and got out, floating out and expanding his wings to the utter awe of the assembled Sorceresses. Then Atsaelle followed, feeling embarrassed to face her friends, her _family_ with a hood and to go forever. But she had already said her goodbyes in the last few days.

She felt that Makiri recognized her cape, and knew it was her. She projected her indecision to Tyrael. He stopped, and turned slowly to the young sorceress.

"Atsanit is no more," he stated. "The Archangel you see beside me is Atsaelle, the lady of Pandemonium."

Then he told Atsaelle in his inner speech to begin to fly up, and helped her with mental instructions as she was having a little of trouble with this other novelty, but nothing human eyes squinting in their light and in the sun could notice.

_**THE END**_


End file.
